


Genji's Path

by kdweaver



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Backstory, Blackwatch, Blackwatch Era, Cyborg Angst, Gen, Worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-02
Updated: 2018-12-30
Packaged: 2019-01-08 02:28:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 32
Words: 53,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12245295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kdweaver/pseuds/kdweaver
Summary: Genji has been rescued from the brink of death, and finds himself in an almost entirely unfamiliar body. How does Overwatch expect him to repay the massive debt he has incurred? What will happen to him if he's not needed anymore?Multi-POV story centered on Genji as he spends time in Overwatch, as the organization and others change around him. Genji confronts his perceptions of himself, his obligations, and his family, as he learns to live in a body which is more machine than flesh.or: how I learned to stop worrying and love my robot body and forgive my idiot brother





	1. Awakening

Shapes emerged slowly out of a soft white haze. Objects formed themselves out of these pieces, and became recognizable. A collection of wooden legs, a seat, and a backrest became a chair, clicking into place. It was simple, familiar, and yet it felt novel; as if this were the first chair he had seen in a long time. This feeling of novelty persisted, as Genji slowly recognized a curtain, a window, a monitor panel. Gently, he took breaths as the external world continued to reform around him.

"Good morning, Genji," an accented female voice to his left greeted him. He turned his head slowly to look at the speaker - a sharply-dressed Doctor, with shining blonde hair and an almost angelic aura. Genji felt as though he had met this woman before, but couldn't recall her name or where they had met.

"Wh-" Genji attempted to talk, but found his chest and voice uncooperative. He coughed, took a breath, and tried again. "Where is this?" he managed to rasp out. His own voice felt raw, and strangely metallic in his throat.

"You can speak, that's very good," the woman noted, jotting something down on her tablet. She looked back up at him. "We're at the Overwatch headquarters, in Switzerland. We brought you here to complete your cyberization, after your condition had stabilized."

Cyberization. The word sounded familiar. It stirred something very large and unpleasant, which had been quiesent in the back of his mind. The strange placidity he felt began to evaporate, as his memories began to re-emerge.

"Cy-ber-i-za-tion," Genji sounded out slowly, to himself, testing out the syllables and attempting to recall how they related to him. The links between those sounds and his life seemed to reach into a deep cloud of fog. Genji pulled on the links, and recalled strange half-dreams: memories of voices asking him to walk, and run, and flex his hands. He remembered huge machines, clicking and humming around his body, and himself, lying still and numb on a table inside of them. The machines were peering inside his brain, watching his dreams, to learn how his mind controlled his legs.

Or, rather, how his mind had controlled his legs. Parts of him were missing on that table. Many parts. This, he remembered keenly. They had moved him like cargo, carted alongside the machines which kept him alive. He had clutched at his own torso with his left arm, as if trying to hold together what remained of himself.

But Genji realized that there was more of him, now, in Switzerland, than there had been, then, on that table, inside the machines. He felt the presence of a right arm - tingling, sensitive, new, and a pair of legs under the sheet in front of him. Turning his head, he inspected his new right arm.

It was red, white, and black - synthetic muscle, ceramic composites, and carbon fiber. An arm fit for fighting, he deduced with satisfaction. He wondered if he could move it, and found that it began lifting itself in front of his face. Air slid over it, and Genji was surprised to discover the arm itself communicating that feeling to him.

"Oh!" the woman exclaimed, "wonderful! The right-arm locomotion mapping was a success." She took down more notes. "Tell me, do you have sensation in the arm?"

Genji nodded at her, and ran his left index finger down the palm of his new right hand. He could feel the touch in his right hand, but its location was confused. He couldn't have said whether the touch was on the back or the front of his hand.

"I can feel, but it is... strange," he replied. "I cannot tell you what is where."

The woman nodded. "That is something you have to learn again, I'm afraid."

She leaned over, and took a collection of small, wooden blocks out of a bag, and placed them on a rolling table, which she then moved in front of Genji. He continued to stare at her, trying to placer her in his memory. She returned to her seat, and looked back at him, noticing his gaze.

"Do you have a question, Genji?" she asked politely.

"I... do not remember who you are," he replied honestly.

"Ah, my apologies. I'm Angela Ziegler, the Overwatch doctor in charge of your recovery. We met under... stressful circumstances, and furthermore, you've had recent neurosurgery. It may take time for you to regain your more recent memories."

Genji nodded. "I understand." He turned his gaze back forward, to the blocks in front of him. "What am I to do with these?"

"Yes, the blocks. Please attempt to stack them on top of one another, with your right arm."

Genji glanced at her for a second, to see if she was serious. There was no mirth on her face, only a cool analytic regard.

"You wish for me to stack them?" he asked, to confirm if this was the task she wanted to set for the second son of the infamous Shimada clan.

"Yes," she nodded.

Sitting up straighter, Genji imagined grabbing a block with his right hand, but found instead that it shot forward and hit the block, sending it flying across the room, where it ricocheted off the wall, and then spun across the floor.

"Oh," Genji said. "Whoops."

Dr. Ziegler gave him a small smile, and picked the block up off the floor, returning it to the table.

"Maybe, take it more slowly this time," she suggested.

With slightly increased caution, Genji reached for the cube, and grabbed it, only to have it slip out of his strangely-tingling new hand's grasp, and fall back to the table. He began to accept that this would be a challenge, and set himself to it.


	2. Recollections

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While building his skills with his new right arm, Genji rediscovers his memory of how he came to lose so much of his body.

Genji had graduated from stacking blocks to building Lego. This was a drastic improvement, as far as he was concerned. Sitting up in the hospital bed, he envisioned his artificial right hand - index finger extended, thumb crooked - reaching forward, to grab the red 10x1 piece off the table. His fingers closed on it in a pincer grasp, and lifted it up off the surface perfectly. It seemed almost soft, malleable, resting on the synthetic pads of his fingers. Bending the pieces was easy, he had found.

Rotating the piece into place, Genji placed it over the nubs of the previous layers which he had so painstakingly built. Something inside him was slowly figuring out how this arm was not merely something attached to him that he could control, like one of those children's games controlled through a headset. Instead, it was an extension of his being; it could be imbued with intent, it could learn, react, and guide itself. As he continued to build with his new hand, his arm, it became simpler, faster. His being flowed down through it, mapping its sensations, placing each of its muscles and motions in his own image of his being.

Genji was building the temple gate, piece by piece. It was helping with his memory, somehow. He recalled arguments with Hanzo, who had become more insufferable than ever after the death of their Father. Before his death, Genji had already been preparing to leave for quite some time. He had thought that Hanzo would not mind having him out of the way. He had been wrong.

Genji clicked another piece onto the top of his miniature gate, enjoying the feeling of its satisfying snap. That finished the top of the gate. That was where everything had changed. He had climbed up to it easily, as he had ever since he was a teenager. But this time, he carried a small bag, holding some personal belongings and some cash to get him started on his own. He had stood at its top, feeling the ancient wood flex under his feet. He wiped a drop of sweat off his brow. Then, the floodlight hit him.

"And just where are you going?" Hanzo called out imperiously, emerging into the courtyard with his new retinue of advisors.

Genji raised his hand to his eyes, shielding them from the bright light below.

"I'm leaving," he responded plainly.

"Unnaceptable," Hanzo stated. "It is finally time for you to face your duty as a Shimada."

"Oh? I believe I have a rebuttal you may want to hear." Genji turned around and dropped his pants, mooning the group below while making a loud farting noise with his hands. Hanzo was impossible to beat on his own level, so Genji always brought the level down.

An arrow whizzed past his ear, and Genji took that as a sign that it was time for him to leave. He pulled his pants back up, and looked back at his brother. Hanzo had nocked another arrow to his bow already, an expression of fury on his face.

"That is what duty is worth, brother," Genji remarked, before getting onto his knees to begin the climb down the far side of the gate.

"And what of your promise to Father? Does it mean nothing to you?" Hanzo yelled.

Genji hesitated a moment, halfway through lowering himself down the outside of the gate.

"Father is dead. I am not."

Looking back down, Genji gauged his next step in the descent. Then, there was a sudden thump, and the breath went out of his body. A white line of pain had been drawn across his right shoulder; his hands weren't holding the gate anymore. Air was rushing past his head. Nothing made sense. Hanzo didn't make mistakes, had never - Genji was briefly aware of his legs crumpling against somthing hard and metal before passing out.

Everything tasted metallic. Everything hurt. Genji's heart fluttered in his chest, struggling. Lights flashed by as he passed through strange places. He heard voices, arguing. Then the voices disappeared, followed by everything else.

Consciousness had returned, eventually. Genji's head was foggy, and it was a struggle just to open his eyes. He was lying in a bed, in a room somewhere. A man was standing at its foot - slowly, Genji recognized him as his father's private secretary, Tanaka, and opened his eyes a little wider.

"He's awake?" Tanaka quietly asked someone else. They murmured in the affirmative. "Good. Leave us."

A door clicked shut. Tanaka took off his hat, and ran a hand over his thinning hair. His head snapped back up, and he glared at Genji. His face was quivering, contorted with anger.

"You're a real piece of shit, you know that?" Tanaka spat. "A real piece of shit. I want you to understand that, more than anything. You have always been a piece of shit, a pain in my ass, and an impediment to your brother's progress. You are alive out of my duty to your father, nothing more."

Tanaka took a deep breath, and pinched the bridge of his nose before continuing. "But let us be clear - Genji Shimada - _he is dead_." Tanaka enunciated each syllable clearly, while walking closer. "Whoever you are" - Tanaka grabbed Genji's hair, and stared into his eyes - "you will get the fuck out of this city, and never come back. If you don't" - Tanaka's hand drifted down onto Genji's throat, and squeezed, causing pain to blossom throughout Genji's entire neck and back - "we won't find it hard to finish the job your brother started."

The hand released his throat, and Tanaka walked away, straightening his tie, putting his hat back on, and recomposing his face. Genji breathed hard, the pain in his neck lingering. Before leaving the room, he made one more remark.

"Think of this as an chance to become humble. I told the surgeons to make sure you'd be faced with many opportunities to become humbled."

Genji attempted to reply, but something went wrong. He only wheezed, and that set off another torrent of pain in his neck. He reached to feel his throat, but his arm didn't respond. That was when the realization set in. He wasn't numb on one side; his right side was not there anymore. He tried to sit up, but his legs from the knee down were gone too. His torso, his left arm, this was all that was left of him; a scrap.

Then, there was panic. Panic, sedation, and rage. He had calmed as the rage crystallized inside of him, forming the new core of his being. Rage at his family, their clan, their business. And Hanzo, at the center of it all. He drew from this rage as a source of strength, to bring his mind back together, to speed his body's healing of what was left of itself.

Everything changed one night, when his chance came. Genji had awoken, his senses tingling. Something, somebody unfamiliar had entered the room. It - he - was slouching in a chair by his bedside, watching him. He was dressed in tight black and grey tactical clothing, and had the looming presence of somebody who was used to committing acts of violence.

"Poor little Sparrow," he sighed, in a deep, gravelly voice. "Tried to leave your cage, but looks like you got your wings clipped instead. Disappointing."

Genji didn't respond. Couldn't have responded, even if he'd known what to say. They'd taken his voice, too. He stared at the man instead, meeting his dark eyes beneath his bushy, brown eyebrows.

"You know who I am?" the man asked, finally. Genji shook his head.

The man rotated, revealing an Overwatch logo on his right shoulder. Genji's eyes widened. He'd contacted them, thinking they might provide a way out. And now, they came for him. Now, after everything. He let out a short bark of laughter. He could still do that much, at least.

The man gave a small smile for that.

"Still got a sense of humor? That's good. You're gonna need it, cause I've a proposition for you." He sat forward, templing his hands.

Come with me, become a freak medical experiment, and join Overwatch. Then, do whatever we say, for as long as we want. Or" - he paused for a moment, staring at Genji's body - "stay here, and make do with one arm while being chased by assassins."

The man shrugged.

At least you'll still be able to jerk yourself off. Could have been worse."

Genji stared at the man, unbelieving. He let out another sharp bark of laughter.

Pulling himself up with the handle over his bed, Genji folded down his bed's railing, and slid himself over, onto the wheelchair they had left for him. His left arm straining, he wrestled himself up into a proper sitting position in the chair. Upright again, he looked back at the man in the chair, who seemed more interested. Genji nodded his head towards the door, impatiently. The man smiled again, wider this time. He stood up, and wheeled Genji out of the room.

"Reyes is the name," he said. "You'll be working for me."

Stealing out of a back door to the hospital, where the only guard was sleeping, Reyes had brought him to a safehouse. From there, they'd flown to another location, another hospital. That was where Genji had met Dr. Ziegler, and she'd bursted with excitement, telling him about the amazing new body he was going to have. The dots of the past few months finished connecting, leading back to the hospital room in Switzerland, where he had finished building the small, Lego replica of the temple gate he had been shot off of. The rage re-crystallized inside of him - hard, cold, powerful. Genji reached forward with his new hand, and closed it around the model gate. He squeezed, and felt the tiny bricks pop and bend and split inside of his fist. He opened it, and dropped the deformed ball of plastic onto the table. Reaching to his bed's controls, he buzzed for a nurse. It was time for them to teach him how to use his new legs already - he was fed up with sitting in bed.


	3. Technical Hiccups

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dr. Ziegler begins to enable Genji's prosthetic legs. There are some technical difficulties.

Cables ran out of Genji's arms and legs, then dropped down onto the floor, where they ran over to a computer console surrounded by three arguing technicians. They were lackeys of Dr. Ziegler, Genji could tell. That woman couldn't be everywhere at once, though it seemed she often tried to be. Right now, the techs were trying to figure out why Genji's prosthetic legs weren't moving. The legs lay uselessly against the reclined seat he was lying in. Dr. Ziegler had agreed to allow Genji to begin using them, but the session to enable them was starting with technical hiccups.

"Is it the neural processor?" one technician asked. "We can read it but it won't accept new commands."

"No," another said, shaking her head, "I don't think so, his arm is still working."

"Let's check the cables again," the third suggested.

They agreed, and walked over, tugging on the cables running out of Genji's body. He felt as though they might as well have been working on a car, for all the acknowledgment of his presence they gave. He looked over at one of them who was standing a few feet away, and stroking his beard to appear more thoughtful.

"Perhaps you should try turning it off and on again," Genji suggested to the technicians, dryly.

"Well, we could, but a hard reset of your systems could cause you to seize," one replied.

Genji closed his eyes and sighed.

"That was a joke."

The technicians stared blankly at him for a second, before returning to their deliberations.

Finally, Dr. Ziegler swept into the room, greeted him and her staff, and walked to the computer terminal.

"Why is the IO card in dummy mode?" she asked. "No matter. I'll just restart the computer."

"Oh, yes," a tech coughed. "Good idea."

Genji closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He was having trouble believing these people hadn't killed him in surgery, much less given him a new body. The concept that he would be dependent on people like these for the rest of his life floated through his mind, and he pushed it away quickly. One could only bear so much at once.

The computer across the room chimed as it finished restarting, and Dr. Ziegler launched the software that connected to Genji's prosthetics. Through the software, Dr. Ziegler could control how his impulses were detected, how his arm translated neural spikes into movements, how it encoded sensation and sent it back to his brain. Genji's perception and control of the world around himself rested quietly, gently, under her fingertips.

"All right Genji, let's start it off simple. Enabling basic leg control and proprioception now," Dr. Ziegler announced. She tapped on the screen, and a new feeling tickled at the back of Genji's mind. Slowly, he realized that it came from what he recognized as his lower legs. Curiously, he imagined lifting his right leg, and it began to lift off the chair.

The pain struck brutally, and without warning. Genji's leg kicked, and the pain got even worse. It was as though a thousand red-hot needles had started piercing his body, not just through his right leg, but his whole lower body. And still, the pain grew worse, and forced out everything in his mind except his perception of it.

And then, as suddenly as it had come, the pain disappeared, and Genji gasped for breath. He coughed, and fought the nausea rising in his stomach. His lower body was wet, and his forehead was sweating. He raised his right arm to wipe his brow.

But the arm didn't move. It was numb, dead. It lay by his side, revealed as the inanimate object which it truly was. It sat there, cold, hard, unmoving - a dead, alien body which grew into his bones and under his skin, burrowing into his flesh. It was no longer part of him.

"Turn it on," Genji groaned. "Turn it back on. The arm."

He needed the illusion that it was part of him back. His mind wouldn't, couldn't, accept his body being penetrated by a dead weight pretending to be an arm.

Finally, there was a crackle, and the sensation of hitting his funny bone. The feeling of his right arm returned, and Genji sighed with relief. Then, he let out a stream of the most vile curses which he could summon. If he had been a child back at home, they would have gotten him years of extra chores. Only after he was done did he return his attention to his surroundings.

The techs had retreated, huddling in a corner of the room. Dr. Ziegler walked towards him, a look of shock on her face.

"Genji, I sincerely apologize, we must have made an... error," she stated weakly.

"Explain yourself," Genji demanded.

Dr. Ziegler sighed. "It's too early to conclude. We need to do more tests, but I suspect an error in the nerve mapping. We need to run more tests, to be sure."

Genji felt a hand on his shoulder, and went stiff. He slapped it away, and turned angrily.

"You presume too much," he chastised. "You all presume too much. Bring a wheelchair and leave me."

They brought the wheelchair over, and helped Genji into it. He begrudged their hands even as they did this. Then, they left him in the room.

Genji moved over to the windows, breathing with control, and bringing his emotions back into check. His frustration, his anger, his embarrassment; he fed them all to the hard crystal at the core of his being: the hatred for the ones who had put him in this position.


	4. Green Tea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the unsuccessful attempt to activate his legs, Dr. Ziegler sits down with Genji for a conversation about what went wrong, and what he can expect in the future.

The cup of tea was the first thing which he had enjoyed in a long time. Warmth spread from the mug into his hands. Taking a sip, Genji savored the delicate flavor that hung on the back of his tongue. He placed the cup back on the desk in front of him, and nodded his head.

"Thank you for the tea, Dr. Ziegler. It is quite good."

She smiled at that, sitting behind her large, clean desk, made of light wood, with highly organized papers and several tasteful _objets d'art_ on top. Through the large plate-glass window behind her, the outline of the Swiss alps was visible, striking up against a darkening sky that threatened snow.

"A friend taught me how to brew it properly. It's the least I can do - I owe you an apology, Mr. Shimada," Dr. Ziegler responded. "I haven't been giving you the attention or respect you deserve," she said with sincerity.

Genji's hand twitched.

"I - wish to apologize as well. I was rude yesterday. Regardless of circumstance, I should give you the respect you deserve as well." He bowed his head.

And, please, the name 'Shimada,'" Genji continued, "...I do not wish to be associated with it any longer. I would be happy if you continued to simply call me 'Genji.'"

Dr. Ziegler's smile grew a little wider at that. "Well then," she replied, "you must call me Angela. Being called Doctor all the time can make one" - she waved her hand, while searching for the right phrase - "feel a little silly."

"Ok... Angela," Genji responded. It felt awkward, and yet more equitable. Dr. Ziegler - Angela - rotated one of her monitors over so Genji could view it as well.

"We've identified the problem which caused the - incident yesterday," she explained, and tapped on the monitor, bringing up a rotating virtual image of a brain and spinal column. She tapped it again, and the virtual brain separated itself into pieces.

"These are the regions of your brain responsible for different functions. Somatosensory, over here, motor cortex, over here."

Angela pointed at the different sections of Genji's brain as she explained.

The interface fibers are most heavily integrated in those regions," she went on, turning on a highlight layer which showed arcs of light weaving into and through the tight meshwork of neurons. The arcs represented electronic fibers woven into the very fabric of Genji's mind. "The interface system learns from and reacts to your nervous system, but we have to feed it some initial information. Unfortunately, some of that information was incorrect, down here, in the spinal column."

Angela panned down, to the relatively simple-looking spinal column - a straight line down the body. Then, she zoomed in again, and this simple-looking structure expanded into a labyrinth of connections. Some of the diagram was colored in red, here. She poked at it with irritation.

"Part of this nerve bundle was misclassified, and stimulated in relation to your leg's position. Unfortunately, that pathway was actually related to nociception - your perception of pain."

Angela shifted in her seat, and folded her hands on the desk.

"Our mistake led to you being hurt yesterday. We can fix the problem, but I cannot guarantee that something of this nature won't happen again. Your cyberization is, by far, the most complex ever attempted. I have no doubt that we will encounter more issues down the road. Given that" - she paused and took a breath, her posture tense - "I can understand if you want to reconsider the cyberization. Undoing our work will not be trivial, but it will become harder down the road. Everything will become more deeply embedded in you, physically and mentally," she concluded.

Genji sat silently for a moment before responding.

"I would go through that pain, every day, if I could" - he stopped abruptly, and searched for more appropriate phrasing. "I still have work to do. I must go on. I would endure anything to achieve that end," he declared, as he sat up straighter, his eyes full of fire.

"Well then," Angela responded quietly. "I'll see you later today for the map reprogramming."

Genji nodded, and wheeled himself out of the room.

* * *

Genji had left the rest of his tea cooling on Angela's desk. She stared at it for a moment, ignoring the million other things which she had to get to that afternoon. _Just what have they brought me?_ she wondered. She hadn't been told much about Genji, only that Overwatch needed him, and he was a perfect candidate to cyberize. Unfortunately, it looked as though some of the help the man needed, and the help she was giving him, were two separate (and possibly conflicting) things.

Angela sipped her own tea, reflecting. Anywhere else, an ethics committee would have slapped down a rejection on a cyberization project like this before she could have blinked. But this was Overwatch; they had a way of getting around red tape. Angela liked that, but seeing Genji convulse with pain while under her care had forced her to realize that there was a growing pile of mistakes behind her. When given extraordinary freedom, one had to show they were worthy of the honor.

And so, she had resolved to concentrate fully on Genji's cyberization. No more reckless mistakes. She would help Genji fully integrate with his new body, from toes to fingertips, and humanity would reap enormous benefits from the project. Sometimes, the ends justified the means. She just needed to get the ends.

Angela sighed, and turned to address the twenty new urgent emails which had piled up in her inbox.


	5. Distractions & Reflections

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Waking from a dream in the middle of the night, Genji reflects on his past choices while flipping through foreign TV.

Genji startled awake from his dream. Hanzo had been chasing him through the house, his presence drawing ever-closer, while Genji stumbled and tripped over his own feet while trying to escape. Descending deeper and deeper into the house, he had to resort to crawling as his legs became fully unresponsive. Ending up in a storeroom, Genji discovered that it was a dead end just as Hanzo caught up to him, and raised their father's sword high, with not a single emotion showing on his face. The blade struck downwards, flashing, and then Genji had woken.

His heart was racing in his chest, and he could feel adrenaline in his veins. The core of his body that was still flesh ached with fatigue, needing to continue healing itself, and needing to build muscles to accommodate the unfamiliar weights of his artificial limbs. Yet sleep would be out of the question for a while more.

Genji pulled himself upright in the hospital bed, and attempted to calm himself with breathing. But it was no use - his eyes closed, he still saw Hanzo, ready to strike him down. His eyes open, he saw his new body, so unfamiliar, half of it was still dead to him; Angela had reprogrammed his whatever controller, but she wanted to wait before trying to enable his legs again. In the meantime, Genji burned with impatience and frustration. The ventilation in the room hummed quietly, but the noise somehow was becoming thunderous in his ears.

Sometimes, when the pressures inside his head became too much to bear, all Genji could choose to do was find some way, any way, of escaping them. He reached for the controls at his bedside, and used them to turn on a TV on the far wall. He flipped through different shows that were airing in the dead of night on Swiss TV. Some were in German, some were in French, and some were in English. Most had subtitles in one of the other languages, too.

Flipping onto one channel, Genji watched a man eat a cheeseburger the size of his own head. Another channel showed a woman taking a tour of a temple in Nepal. She walked up ancient stone steps to a magnificent tiered building painted in red and gold, with strings of prayer flags flapping in the wind. The next channel was an old show starring four aged American women living together in a large, warmly-lit house - Genji assumed it was humorous, given the laugh track. Most of the jokes went over his head; his English was adequate, but far from fluent. Yet, there was something comforting about it - the concept for four people living together comfortably, laughing and joking and having little dramas. Genji wanted to escape to a place like that.

He had been able to do that for a night, when he had gotten old enough to start sleeping around. The morning after, lying in somebody else's bed, he would wake up early but stay still, and quietly take in his surroundings. For a short period of time he could fool himself, believing that this small apartment was his - that he would get up and walk over to that kitchen, and make his own rice in the beaten-up cooker. The front door would also be his, to enter and leave whenever he wanted, with whichever friends he had made. That table would be where he would sit alone in the winter, sipping a mug of tea and watching snow flakes fall outside of a frosty glass window. His everyday schedule, his working life, his whole future, would be his to choose.

Then, whomever he had slept with, the true owner of the apartment, would stir, and the spell would be broken. Genji would remember that this was their place, and not his. Soon, they would wake, and want him gone. Even if they wanted to see him again, they would find out who he was. Then, they would be afraid, or want something, or be disgusted with him. It was better to dress quietly, and see himself out. One of his father's men would always be waiting on a street nearby, and follow discreetly behind Genji as he returned home.

The TV show ended, and Genji's thoughts returned to the present day. His mistake from the beginning, he realized, was thinking that an escape had been possible. The Shimadas - his Father's people, his brother's people, and all their minions and goons and bureaucrats - they would always find you, and rope you back in, to use you or kill you. If there was ever to be a way out, then he had to fight for it. He would have to cut and claw and scrape their tangled web away, until it was broken scraps. Only then could he be free.

Genji turned the TV off, and laid back down. The adrenaline had filtered out of his system, and he felt tired again. Closing his eyes, he attempted to return to sleep. Eventually, he dozed off, and if he dreamt more, then he did not remember it the following morning.


	6. The Linchpin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Genji begins re-learning how to walk with his new legs. Reyes reflects on how his actions set current events in motion.

Learning how to make basic use of his arm had taken a few days. Genji had hoped that the same would apply to his legs. He had been wrong.

The legs themselves, he could move fine. Raise his foot, bend his knee, kick and stomp. But making them do anything useful, that was another story. Walking was like tying shoes; try to think about how it's done, and it's impossible. Raise the foot, move it forward - but how? how far and how fast? - place it back down, but also swing the body to move its balance, but not too far, because then it's falling too far forward.

As he encountered this issue again, Genji grabbed at the support beams at his side. He clenched his jaw, and with exertion, pushed with his upper body, swinging his legs back underneath himself to begin another attempt. A drop of sweat dripped down his forehead.

Something about it reminded him of being a child - learning to run, climb, hit. But those things had all come naturally to him. What re-learning to walk really reminded Genji of was the piano. Hanzo had been learning to play, and excelling at it (as he excelled in all things, at all times). At the time, Genji had grown just old enough to start resenting his brother for the long shadow he cast, rather than worshipping his perfection.

When Genji saw Hanzo or a teacher playing the piano, it looked easy. You just had to push down the right keys, and music came out. And so, he had sat in front of the piano one day, ready to play it and fully expecting himself to display a virtuosic talent he could use to overtake his brother in at least one area.

To his disappointment, the piano refused to cooperate with him. No matter what keys he pressed, the sounds which came out were discordant, mistimed. Genji couldn't even make his fingers walk up the keys in order, as Hanzo did at the start of his practices. Genji's fingers tripped over one another, ending up in the wrong places at the wrong times.

And then, Genji heard a new sound - Hanzo, who had snuck up from behind, laughing at him. His cheeks burning red, Genji had slammed the piano's key cover closed, then ran away with Hanzo's sheet music, which he threw into a pond. At least that part of the story had made Father laugh. Genji had also been learning the playing the fool, at least, was something he could do that Hanzo couldn't. He didn't go near the piano again after his embarrassment.

The piano had come back to him, though. The floor was the keys under him, and his legs took the place of his fingers, refusing to go to the right places at the right times. It was infuriating.

"Genji, I think it's time you took a break," Angela interrupted. Genji's mind snapped back to the present day. Dr Ziegler was standing in the corner of the room with a tablet. "Your entire motor cortex can't rearrange itself an afternoon. You need rest."

Genji shook his head. His upper body was tired, but not yet shaking. He still knew his limits, and how far he could push himself. He had a ways left to go before he was done.

* * *

Leaning back in the chair at his desk, Reyes scowled, and sighed. The situation in Hanamura was beginning to evolve rapidly, faster than he'd anticipated. But he'd lit this particular powder keg himself, and it was his job to make sure it didn't blow up in his own face. It was the same game he'd been playing his whole life, more or less.

Sojiro Shimada probably wouldn't have appreciated being thought of as a fuse, but he'd done a perfect job of it nonetheless. The man had been intelligent, charismatic, ruthless. With a smile and an iron fist, he had finished his own Father's expansion of the Shimada from a group of local thugs into an international syndicate. Reyes had never seen Sojiro with his own eyes, much less met him, but felt as though he had. Years of reading intelligence reports on a man, his business, and his family had a way of doing that to you.

Sojiro's accomplishment was undoubtedly impressive, but flawed. As with many empires, many of its flaws stemmed from its leader. He had built by winning over powerful allies, offering them either lucrative positions within his organization, or absolute destruction. While these men and women followed and feared the Emperor, it was doubtful they would all continue to do so for his Empire, or his sons.

Hanzo was Sojiro's first-born son, and boy, did he ever fit the stereotype. Reyes smiled, remembering the first time he'd seen a recording of Hanzo. The young man in the video had even moved and sounded like he'd imagined. Hanzo was studious, diligent, and a fast learner. However, he didn't have the same charisma or quick wit of his Father; he was straight-laced and unimaginative, as one would expect of a man who had been so heavily corralled all of his life. Reyes had no doubt Sojiro had realized this, and would have eventually given Hanzo some more freedom - a small fiefdom of his own within the Shimada, perhaps - to correct this issue. But whatever plans Sojiro had made died alongside him in the incident, which even the clan of assassins had believed was accidental. As the obvious heir, the Empire had passed to Hanzo. But that left him with a problem: his younger brother, Genji.

Genji was the 'spare.' The younger son, who could ostensibly inherit the Empire if any misfortune befell Hanzo. However, Sojiro's flaws became most strongly visible in Genji. What was lacking in one son was reflected in the other. Genji was impulsive, frivolous, and short-sighted. He acted recklessly, and seemed interested only in martial arts and having sex. By all accounts, he'd been very successful in those two fields, becoming a master assassin and sharing his charms with what seemed like half of Hanamura. In the meantime, he had also alienated three-quarters of his Father's lieutenants with various hijinks and outright insults.

Reyes had wondered why Genji had been allowed to run so wild. He suspected Sojiro had fallen under the unfortunate influence of love - for his wild, reckless son, with his stupid green hair and naive charm. Reyes could understand that. Love had made him do stupid things - still did, if he was being honest with himself. That didn't mean he wouldn't take advantage of it in others.

All the ingredients had been there: Sojiro, the Emperor of the Shimada, their linchpin. Hanzo, his rigid heir. Genji, his wild child. It was Reyes's job to recognize these situations, and feel when the time was right to strike. And so he had. It was Overwatch's job to take down criminals, after all. Afterwards, his plan had been to wait for fractures.

First, Genji had been maimed, cast out, and Reyes had been quick to snap him up. The man could be a useful asset, even without Ziegler deciding to give him robot power-ups. Reyes had thought the exile a ruthless, but wise, move on Hanzo's behalf; spares become problematic when the heir becomes Emperor. But the truth had come out later: Hanzo hadn't thought his shot would kill Genji, and still had trouble believing his brother was dead. Perceptive of him, but bad planning. Tanaka, one of Sojiro's oldest and most trusted friends, had actually been the one responsible for maiming and exiling Genji. It would have been wiser to kill him, but even from beyond the grave, Sojiro's friend extended his beneficence to Genji. Unfortunately for him, Genji would be unlikely to return the favor.

If nothing more had happened for a few months or even years, Reyes would have been satisfied. Shimada lieutenants would begin to poke and prod around their new leader, looking for favors, weaknesses, opportunities. Unfortunately, Hanzo had been even more inflexible than Reyes had thought. His insider's last report said that Hanzo had gone missing after locking himself in the Great Hall for two days. Reyes hadn't gotten any new reports since then, and could only conclude that the Shimadas had suddenly become a headless dragon. Or, more accurately, a dragon with a hundred heads, each one looking to eat the others. It would become unpredictable and violent, no longer an entity that could be influenced or negotiated with, as it dissolved away into a hundred different fighting factions. This would be unproductive; they had to strike again sooner.

Making up his mind, Reyes stood up, and stretched. His back popped; it ached more than it used to, he reflected grimly. A problem for another time. For now, it was time to gather more information on the Shimada lieutenants. He couldn't think of a better place to start than their new resident Shimada.


	7. Progress

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Genji's physical therapy is going well, and Reyes drops in to check on him. Mercy takes an unintentional nap.

It was morning, and Genji felt as though he was finally making progress with his physical therapy. Through the hours of effort and struggle, he had reshaped himself - in his mind, his muscles, and even in the artificial systems within his new limbs. Finally, the legs attached to him felt as though they were under his control. If he concentrated, he could move them smoothly, swinging them into place one after another, taking steps while supporting himself with the parallel bars at his sides.

Angela was sitting in a chair at the side of the gym, but appeared to have dozed off for a moment. Genji didn't mind. He was glad she was committed to helping him progress, but found that her constant attention sometimes made him feel over-examined, as though he were a particularly interesting collection of data. But on some days, like today, her eyes started fluttering, and she just crashed for ten or fifteen minutes. Genji let her sleep; she'd have a chance to look at all of his recordings later, anyway.

Taking advantage of the privacy, Genji took a deep breath, and decided to go for something new. Letting go of the bars at his side, he took a single step forward. It held. Starting a rhythm, he brought his left foot forward, his right arm swinging with it. The artificial arm was heavier, Genji had noticed, and swung less than his left arm. It was one of the many things he had learned, and gotten accustomed to. Continuing the pattern, he mirrored the motions on his other side, adjusting for his lighter real arm. His balance teetered, but he recovered, and kept going. One foot went in front of the other, and finally, he was at the end of the bars. This time, he hadn't needed to hold them at all.

Genji stood there for a moment, continuing to balance on the legs. He'd finally done it - walked on them. And yet - why didn't he feel like this was the accomplishment it was? Carefully, Genji turned, and faced himself in the side mirror he was supposed to use to watch himself walk.

The man he saw was wobbling on a pair of strange, unnatural legs, as though simply standing was a challenge for him. His feet were white and smooth, perfect and artificial. His lower legs were skeletal, carbon-fiber frames containing synthetic muscle. Artificial, woven black skin ran up from the legs, and melded into the flesh of the man's scarred thighs. More woven skin joined his body at his right shoulder, and even replaced a section on his throat. A light fuzz of black hair covered his skull, which still bore signs of recent surgery. It was only his eyes that told Genji this figure was himself. They were still bright, still angry.

Angela had said the very fabric of his mind - the mesh of neurons and synapses - would have to change itself for him to control his new legs properly. Now that he could walk, that meant that change had happened. What else would shift, given that his mind was physically different? How could his thoughts, his personality, his reactions, also change? How much of his thoughts and feelings had roots which rested in the nerves of the limbs which had been cut away from him? Genji had no idea, nor did anybody else. His only choice was to keep moving forward.

Behind him, the door to the gym beeped, and opened. A figure stepped into the room. It took a moment for Genji to register that it was Reyes, the man he'd first met while in the hospital back in Japan. His memories of that time were a hellish blur, and he had almost thought that Reyes was just a hallucination among his swings in and out of consciousness. But the man was here again - a looming presence, dressed in his dark Overwatch uniform.

* * *

Gabriel couldn't believe his eyes. Across the room, Genji Shimada was standing, unassisted. He looked a little shaky, sure, but that was beside the point. It had been, what - two, three months - since Gabriel had seen this kid laying in a hospital bed, looking like a doll somebody had torn the limbs off of. Even his throat had been a mess; his voice, unusable. But he had been the perfect candidate for Angela Ziegler's new tech, and so Gabe had collected him, and Genji had 'volunteered' for the full cyberization. Fast-forward a month and a couple million Euros, and Genji had something resembling a full body again. Fast-forward to today, and he was actually beginning to be able to use it, way ahead of even their most optimistic projections. A month from now - who knew? What could a master martial artist do with a body that far exceeded the capabilities of a normal human's? The possibilities exhilirated Gabriel. Genji could be a far bigger asset than mere intel. He'd just need to be channeled, that anger behind his eyes focused to a point. For a split second, Gabriel also felt fear: of this new creation, and the powers used to create it. Fear of Genji, and of Dr. Ziegler, asleep in a chair in the corner. But Gabriel dismissed this thought almost as soon as it registered, and moved to greet Genji.

* * *

A flicker of unrecognizable emotion passed over Reyes's face as Genji watched his face, reflected in the mirror. Then, Reyes smiled, and began walking towards Genji. Slowly, Genji rotated one foot, then the other, and turned to face Reyes as he approached.

"You're looking better than the last time I saw you, Genji," Reyes remarked quietly. "Remember our first meeting?"

Genji nodded.

"Well - I've kept up my end of the bargain. Now I need something from you, if you please." Reyes motioned exiting from the room with his hand, indicating they were going to talk elsewhere. Genji hesitated, glancing first at his own feet, and then his wheelchair at the side of the room. Reyes followed Genji's glances, and then walked towards him, before turning and holding out his right arm, offering it as a support.

"I don't normally do this with people under my command, but I'll make an exception this time," Reyes commented, with a trace of humor.

"Thank you," Genji responded, taking Reyes's arm to steady himself as they began to walk out of the Gym. Reyes's arm was strong, thick, his body warm next to Genji's. Genji felt a little heat rush to his face in spite of everything - he realized it had been a long time since he'd been close to someone in this way. It was inappropriate, inconvenient, but also reassuring; good to know that he could still feel like this.

"What about Dr. Ziegler?" Genji asked suddenly, trying to distract himself from his feelings as they made their way towards the gym's door.

"I'll let her know," Reyes replied. "But she could use the extra sleep, I'm sure."

Slowly, they made their way down the hallway, and took an elevator to reach an isolated conference room in the basement of the building. Genji hadn't been on this level before. It felt quiet, sturdy, secure. The door to the conference room closed behind them with an impressive thunk, and Reyes helped Genji sit down in one of the room's plush chairs. Even with Reyes's arm, the walk over had been tiring, challenging. But he was glad that he'd done it, and that Reyes had seen he was able to do it.

Now, Reyes took a seat across the table, and tapped something on its surface. Genji had the feeling he was being recorded.

"So, Genji. As you've probably guessed, we'd like to take down your family's business. Not just take it down, but take it apart, and scatter its pieces to the wind. Destroy its long-term capital, so it can never resurface. But to do that, we need to know more. More about its structure, its members. Can we start there?"

Genji sat forward, excited. This is what he was here for; this is what he had wanted. To destroy what had consumed him, and his brother. He began to tell Reyes everything he knew.


	8. First Mission

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Genji begins to fully use his new abilities. Mercy considers the repercussions of her work, and Gabe's plotting is interrupted by Jack.

Genji sprang from his hiding spot, sending his right leg forward in a flying kick that took the bot square in the back. Just as its body crunched satisfyingly beneath his foot, Genji threw a shuriken at its companion, three meters away. The star embedded itself perfectly in its neck, and it clattered down onto the garden's flagstone path. Those two were the last of the patrol, leaving Genji clear to scale the back wall of the house. He did so, and cleanly cut the pane of glass from its window, bypassing the ancient alarm system that would only detect if the window was opened. Clambering through the entry he had made, Genji stood quietly on the room's lushly carpeted floor, and took stock of his surroundings.

He was in the master bedroom. The floorplan was right, so far. Genji took out an envelope he'd been storing in his chestpiece, and placed it on the bed. It contained an ultimatum of some sort to the master of the house, who was a leader of a faction vying for control of a branch of the Shimada empire. A part of Reyes's master plan for it, that was all Genji knew. Next, he crept out into the hallway to the office. Outside the door, he hesitated. Something was off. There were new senses he had, senses they enabled after he'd re-learned to run, jump, strike, and climb. Reyes had called it Genji's 'body-warming gift.' One of those senses vibrated now, as it did when Genji was near something electric, like the bots. Had they put one of them in the office? Genji furrowed his brow, and closed his eyes to concentrate. He could almost see an outline of something electric, standing in the room beyond.

Stretching out his right hand, Genji placed it on the wall in front of him. Walls had all sorts of textures and signs he'd learned to read with the synthetic hand. Drywall flexed slightly, almost imperceptibly, beneath his smooth, hard fingers. But beams inside the wall were solid, firm. Dragging his fingertips across the surface, Genji found the opening he needed. Lining it up with the presence he sensed, Genji readied another shuriken, took a breath, and steeled himself.

Elbow-first, Genji smashed his forearm down through the thin layers of drywall, his fist opening at the bottom of its arc through the wall, releasing the shuriken. It whistled briefly through the air, and then thunked into something. Genji felt the buzzing in the next room spike, and then cease. Removing his arm from the wall, Genji brushed it off, and then walked through the doorway.

The bot lay on the floor, inactive. It had been equipped with two large-caliber guns that could have made short work of him if he'd gone against it head-on. Instead, he had stuck a shuriken right in its head before it had even known he was there. Good work, if he said so himself.

Finally, Genji took out the thumb drive he was carrying, and put it into the back of the computer. It was supposed to do all of its own work from there, and he just had to take it out again after it beeped. After 30 seconds, it played a little tune - probably one of their hackers' embellishments - and Genji took it back, slunk out of the house, and then out of the garden, and from there, he'd go back into the city. Victory.

The lights in the training hangar came back up, flooding the whole scenario with light from overhead. Reyes came on over the loudspeakers.

"Well done. Come back up and we'll go over your performance."

Genji indulged in a small smile, hidden under his new visor. Even small praises from Reyes were rare. Starting up the steps to the control room, Genji savored the sensation of strength in his legs, their accuracy, their balance. On top of his prosthetics and new senses, they'd also given him an exo-suit. It reinforced his core, giving him more strength, more stability. It also kept him cool, and the visor, well - it kept him from being recognized. The rest of his body certainly wasn't. Genji reached over and itched where his new arm melded into his skin. After he began to cool down from a fight, it always started itching like this. Dr. Ziegler said he needed to use more lotion; it didn't seem to help, though. Reaching the top of the stairs, he tried to put the itching out of his mind, and headed into his mission review.

* * *

Angela looked through the footage again. The bots in the scenario fell one after another, and Genji sometimes moved so fast that the cameras in the training facility picked him up as nothing more than a blur. She watched as Genji took down a bot with an impressive kick, its carbon-fiber reinforced body crumpling easily under the force of his strike. Angela closed the video and sighed, fidgeting idly with a pen as she turned to look out her office window.

She and her team had done a good job with Genji. Miraculous, one might be tempted to say. If truth were told, she hadn't thought it would go this well. Angela had expected Genji would walk and run again, recover most of his ability, but what he had achieved was far greater than that. With his state-of-the art limbs, exo-suit, and sensor suite, he easily exceeded what any human could do, or hope to defend themself against. As she watched his training videos, Angela couldn't help but imagine what would happen to a human body under one of his kicks. Their ribs and spine would crack easily, piercing various internal organs, collapsing their chest cavity. Without immediate treatment, that person would die from a kick delivered by a foot which she had worked so hard to give Genji control over. That image was the cause of the growing tension in her chest. She had given Genji all the tools he needed to become an unprecedented combatant, and he was due to take up that role very shortly.

Despite her profession, Angela was no pacifist. Her generation had grown up in the shadow of the Omnic crisis, and nearly everyone held the pragmatic view that sometimes, violence was necessary. That was what they had seen the old Overwatch heroes doing, after all: applying violence to save the world from the omnics. And yet, Angela had begun to wonder. All too often it seemed to her that the higher-ups wielded a sledgehammer where a chisel would do the trick. And outside Overwatch, the world was changing, tentatively testing the waters of a new peace. In some places, fully autonomous Omnics walked the streets alongside humans. It boggled the mind. How would Overwatch change itself to reflect these new times? Would it? Or would it continue to punch its way out of every problem, using the tools she had made?

In any case, she should have known better than to agree to work on a Blackwatch project, Angela thought. She reflected back on the day where she had accidentally dozed off in one of Genji's therapy sessions, then woken to find he had been whisked away by Reyes, as soon as he'd been able to walk. There was a cruel humor in that, she realized, grimacing. Cruel to her, but more cruel to Genji, though he might not realize it. So much for his newfound freedom.

For now, the best thing she could do was to finish publishing her results. The things they'd learned while building Genji's systems could further improve the fast-moving world of prosthetics, making integrating the systems more automated and complete. Angela hoped that the abilities people would gain from this would outweigh the spikes that would crack and the organs that would burst under Genji's blows. She supposed she would never truly know if it did.

* * *

Gabe sat at his desk, reviewing the final mission plan for the intel strike. They'd had to revise the backup extraction route, as bad weather was looking likely in the Phillipines over the next couple of days. The good news was that it was likely to keep the local Shimada captain whose house they were raiding from getting home to Manila ahead of schedule. Overall, Gabriel was confident about the plan's chances of success. Genji's performance was excellent, and this infiltration mission would be the perfect first test for him. After this, the next step would be -

The door to his office slid open suddenly. At this hour, there was only one person with access likely to be visiting him. Sure enough, Jack was standing in the doorway, outlined by the light from the hallway.

"Why do you always keep it so dark in here?" he asked, peering into the room.

"So I can be a better stereotypical villain mastermind," Gabe responded, though it was mostly to help him concentrate.

"Well, I think you'd be a better villain mastermind if you don't give yourself eyestrain," Jack responded, flipping on the lights and stepping into the room. Gabriel sighed.

"Do us all a favor and do some worrying about yourself for a change," he retorted. "How many countries did you visit over the past week? All of them? You look like shit."

"Thanks, Gabe. I feel like shit. It's nice to know I look like it, too."

Jack plopped down onto the small sofa Gabriel kept in his office, and put his feet up on the table in front of it, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"I don't know what time it is," he went on. "I'm tired as hell, but I can't sleep. Is part of getting old?"

Gabe smiled, and opened his desk drawer, pulling out the bottle and glases he kept there. It was the same routine as always. Glasses in one hand, whisky in the other, Gabe walked over to the sofa and sat down next to Jack.

"That's what they invented this for," he said, setting out the glasses and pouring Jack and himself a finger of whisky each.

They sat and drank quietly for a few moments, savoring the smell and flavor of drink, glowing gold-amber under the room's lights.

"Sometimes - when I'm tired like this, memories just start spinning inside my head," Jack said quietly. "It makes me think of the old days. Things were bad, but - they were simpler, too. No publicity tours."

Gabe took a sip of his drink, and reflected. In the days of the Omnic crisis, he, Jack, and the others had ran from fire to fire, fighting for their lives, and for humanity itself. It had been do or die. Nothing else Gabe had done since then matched the intensity of what he'd felt then, or forged stronger bonds of trust - and what he'd begrudgingly accepted as something more - between himself and others.

"I know what you mean," Gabe agreed, finishing his whisky.

There was a pause.

"When's your mission depart?" Jack asked.

"9 hours," Gabe replied.

"We never see each other like this anymore."

Gabe sighed again, and looked over at Jack. He was leaning back in the sofa, his elbow covering his eyes.

"Come on. Just lean on me and get some rest for once," Gabe said, patting his lap. Jack acceded, rolling onto one side and laying his head in Gabe's lap. Gabe ran a hand through Jack's hair, and then smoothed it back down. "I've got you, you big, beautiful idiot."

Jack sighed, and Gabe felt him begin to relax. "I know you do," Jack responded quietly. "That's why I love you."

And there it was, in Gabe's chest. That feeling that could drive empires like the Shimada's to ruin.

"Love you too," Gabe mumbled, blushing. After a while, Jack dozed off in his lap. It became uncomfortable after just a few minutes, but Gabe didn't care. He let his legs fall asleep, and then followed suit a while later.


	9. Manila

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Genji infiltrates a local branch of the Shimada to gain intel.

The ground was soft and damp under Genji's feet, and the air was fragrant with the scent of recent rain. Beams of sunlight filtered through ominous clouds overhead, promising more tumultuous weather to come. Filling his lungs with the sweet air, Genji set his sights on the infiltration target: the home and headquarters of one of the local Shimada chapters. Compared to the mock-up of it he'd been practicing with over the past few weeks, the real thing looked more worn. Paint was peeling on some of its corners, and there were weeds in its back yard. And more importantly, instead of two state-of-the-art, hyper-aware surveillance drones patrolling the area, there were two bored men sitting under the house's back balcony, passing a bottle back and forth. Quietly, Genji began moving, flanking around them.

Genji had undertaken his first combat role when he was fifteen. His father had decided that it was time for him to prove himself as a Shimada, and put his long-honed skills to use. Normally, Genji would joke, cajole, and skip his way out of these sorts of commitments - however, on this occasion, his father would not budge from his decision. And so, a week after his birthday, Genji accompanied a raiding mission to take over a rival's warehouse.

The mission had been a success. Genji had fought well, putting his skills to their full use, his mind clear and his strikes true. But after they had secured the site, after the fighting was done, and after his adrenaline had faded, Genji turned to inspect the inside of the warehouse one more time. Men were lining up bodies against one wall, to be disposed of. On the other side of the room, one of his father's men was taking inventory of the warehouse's contents: contraband weapons and explosives. At the time, Genji had still believed in his father's words, in the family mottos: that crime was inevitable, that it was better for it to be managed with honor, dignitiy, and tradition than be left to common hooligans. And yet, his feelings as he stood between the merchandise and the bodies contradicted this; Genji felt no honor, and instead felt cheap, disappointed, and used.

Genji's mind returned to the present as he finished flanking around the two guards, just as they had drained their bottle. These men had not been born into a family of criminals, he reflected. They had not been raised to become dealers in death and destruction. Yet, here they were of their own will. They were part of the evil, malignant cancer that was his father's work, and it was his duty, his destiny, to disassemble it. Genji unsheathed his sword behind the men, and killed them quickly and quietly.

Continuing through the plan, Genji scaled up the house's back wall, leaving the envelope on the bed before continuing towards the office. There were no extra guards, no surprises of any sort. The bedroom was just messier. Standing out in the hallway and listening, reaching out with all his senses, Genji couldn't detect anyone else in the house. Getting down on a knee, he took out an autopick and opened the office door, which swung open.

There was not just one computer in the room - there were racks of servers and piles of papers.

"HQ," Genji whispered into his visor. "Which one is it?"

"Give us a minute, Sparrow," Reyes responded directly into Genji's auditory cortex.

Genji tapped his foot idly, scowling at the delay keeping him in hostile territory.

"That one, in the corner. Plug the tap in there," Reyes finally told him a minute later.

Genji nodded, and plugged the stick into a corner computer that showed an old-fashioned login screen. Dialog boxes began popping up on the screen, disappearing again in what seemed like the computational equivalent of a seizure. Then, the screen flashed black, and came back up with a map. It showed the Pacific trade zone, with a series of colored dots tracing paths through its seas and shipping channels.

"That's it, Sparrow," Reyes said over the radio. "We hit the jackpot. Retrieve your equipment and exfiltrate."

Nodding, Genji reached to take the stick back out of the computer. His hand on the tap, he hesitated a moment, glancing back up at the computer's screen. He had no doubt that this was a live picture of the Shimada smuggling network. Now that Overwatch had the coordinates of all the ships in the Shimada fleet, they would no doubt track every one of the vessels through satellite and other means.

Genji knew those ships. They were old tubs, refurbished fishing vessels that would fit in anywhere in the entire world. But their holds didn't contain fish; they held weapons, drugs. People.

"Something wrong, Sparrow?" Reyes asked, a hint of suspicion in his voice.

"Yes," Genji replied, removing the tap from the computer, before walking out of the office. "Those ships aren't yet at the bottom of the ocean, where they belong."

Reyes chuckled. "Well then, you're going to enjoy your work over the next few months."

Under his mask, Genji smiled, and began making his way out of the house. He was looking forward to it already.


	10. Shimada Vessel #52

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Genji attacks one of the last remaining vessels in the Shimada's smuggling fleet.

Genji stared out over the East China Sea at a dot of light cutting across its waves. Around him, the stealth dropship hummed quietly through the night as it descended towards its target. This ship was the last one. Number 52.

After the mission in Manila, Reyes had done more recon work, scoping out the Shimada smuggling ships revealed on the map they'd obtained. Once the targets had been checked and confirmed, he'd started the onslaught. The first wave was a series of drone missions to torpedo 32 en-route ships carrying drugs and weapons through international waters. At the same time, 14 other ships docked in ports had been raided and impounded by cooperative nations. In the less cooperative nations, Genji and Reyes had to go out and do things by hand. For 2 of the remaining 6, they'd sabotaged the ships' engines and fire suppression, setting them up in flames. For another, they'd placed a small charge on a fault line that had already existed in the ship. Once they set it off, the whole thing cracked in half, and sank in a minute flat. Various local officials stated that crewing an old, rickety ship was a dangerous profession, and closed the cases, their bank accounts a little bit fatter.

The last 3 ships were a challenge. These were the trio that transported human cargo; people extorted through various means to be smuggled into a different country, usually to do work that no one would volunteer to do. These ships had to be cleared manually, evacuated. Hostages and civilian casualties were to be avoided at all costs.

Thankfully, two of the three trafficking ships had been empty. It seemed like the human slave trade wasn't a good business, when Omnics were around to do the job instead. Genji had mined those two empty ships as well, and that left them with the final ship: number 52. It had a complement of 105 souls on board: 5 crew, 10 guards, 1 Shimada lieutenant, and 89 captives.

Genji's mission was simple. Get on the ship, and eliminate the guards and crew before they could take hostages. Then, clean up, leave the ship to the authorities, and slip into the night. Optional bonus: extract the Shimada lieutenant, so they could interrogate him for new intel regarding the current state of affairs in Genji's old family business. Bad, Genji hoped.

A chime pinged in Genji's head, and in front of him the dropship's door opened, sending air whistling out past him and into the jet's slipstream beyond. Genji leaned forward, and then jumped into the thin air.

For a few seconds, he plummeted straight down towards the black waves below. Just as impact began to seem inevitable, the wing on his back unfolded, sending him gliding towards the ship that was his goal, currently just a dot of light floating on the water. The wing bent and curved, adapting to the wind, fighting to keep Genji's trajectory on target, as that dot of light grew larger, before resolving into individual lights, and eventually becoming recognizable as one big, ugly, old trawler.

Genji's LZ was the roof of the ship's wheelhouse. His landing had to be precise, delicate, otherwise he'd make a hell of a racket. He floated down closer, and the wheelhouse grew in his vision. He was still going too fast - leaning down, Genji forced the wing into a swoop downwards, before pulling up, up, making the wing shudder into a stall - directly over his target. The wing's lift disappeared, and Genji fell a few feet onto the wheelhouse's roof, carefully dampening the impact with his legs as he made contact.

The roof creaked a tiny bit, and then was silent. The sound disappeared into the noises around him: sea water slapping against the hull, the drone of an ancient diesel engine from the ship's belly. No sounds of alarm or activity, for the moment. Carefully, Genji slid down to the ship's deck. Inspecting the back wall of the wheelhouse, he found the vulnerable electrical junction box the recon drones had spotted. Prying off its cover, Genji sliced cleanly through a thick bundle of frayed wires. Instantly, the omnipresent vibration of the engine sputtered and ceased, most of the lights dying along with the engine. Only small emergency lamps, clustered like stars around entrances and staircases, stayed on.

Ahead of Genji, the door to the wheelhouse opened, and two men came striding out.

"...useless dickhead Ryuji better be sober enough to fix it or the boss'll have our asses-"

Genji lunged forward, towards the two crew members heading below deck. They never saw him coming.

And so it went. Drawing out the security crew to the top deck, faking radio chatter to call for backup. Cutting through vulnerable sections of wall to flank around the reserve security crew, dispatch them, and get to their boss. They were all just so slow, so predictable. Trained by the same rulebook, lacking in any real skill or discipline. Genji grew to recognize a certain expression in the faces of the men he cut down, when they had just enough time to see him coming. It was a unique mix of dumb shock, disbelief, the face of someone who was only beginning to recognize him as a threat by the time his blade connected with them. Genji wondered how his father's criminal network had grown so much when these were the sorts of people his business depended on. It would be the downfall of his legacy. Well, Genji acknowledged, looking at his own reflection in a porthole, that process may have started closer to home.

Genji finished tying up the man whose tattoo identified him as a Shimada lieutenant. Something about him was familiar, though Genji couldn't place it. The man moaned, and coughed up some bloody spit. Genji had hit him a bit harder than was necessary to knock him out; it was possible he had a few broken teeth.

"Please," the man whispered, coming to. "Take it: the ship, the captives. Whose side are you working for? Please, I'll work for you, hear me out-"

He began coughing again, and then shakily turned to look up at Genji, who was staring down at him disdainfully through his visor. The man's eyes widened.

"You're... no. You died. Tanaka told everyone you died. That's when Hanzo left, when everything went to shit. This - all of this - is your fault. Now you're telling me you didn't even die?!" the man hissed.

Reflexively, Genji took a step back, and reached for his wakizashi.

The man managed to chuckle through a cough. "I recognize those spoiled eyes of yours, that cocky stance, even under that shitty disguise. Do you get off on humiliating your family? Is that it? Your father, your brother - we're not even first cousins, and yet here you are, back from the dead, come to ruin me as well."

The man looked up at Genji again, his eyes burning with a new energy, probing for something, and finding it missing.

"No... don't tell me. You don't even remember. Don't remember my name. Well, it's the same as your father's - Sojiro. Another Sojiro you can let dow-"

Something inside Genji broke. A reservoir of something that had been building with every word that this man had spoken. Instinctively, Genji dashed forward, and kicked him in the stomach, hard. Genji felt something snap under his foot, and heard the whoosh of breath being expelled from the man's body, before it went flying through the air to impact with a thud on the ship's bulkhead.

A voice crackled into Genji's head. Reyes.

"Genji. Status report."

Genji blinked, and took a breath. Then, he took another, unclenching his fist. His vision started widening back from the tunnel that it had become. He stood up straight, and swallowed.

"The ship is secure. All crew and security members accounted for. Captives unaffected," he responded.

"Roger. And our golden goose?"

Genji glanced at where the lieutenant had fallen to the ship's deck. His eyes were open, blank, and his chest was still as a stone.

"I was unable to retrieve him," Genji said flatly.

"Well, you can't have everything," Reyes sighed. "Anyway, he wasn't a big player in this game, by the looks of it. Now get topside. Our support ship is en-route to clean up this mess, and hand the captives over to the coast guard."

"Roger."

Genji began walking out of the room. He hesitated a moment at the doorway, before glancing over to examine the dead lieutenant's face. Finally, the missing memory snapped into place. The man had been Little Sojiro, a distant cousin who had come around to visit a few times a year. His name had been chosen by his father, Eiji, as a ploy to try and flatter the senior Sojiro, Genji's father, who had not been pleased by the blunt gesture. Eiji had eventually been banished to a remote role, Little Sojiro following him into exile. And now, he had ended up here.

"Your father was an idiot, and so were you," Genji muttered, before leaving the room, and departing the ship.

* * *

The Overwatch support ship was quiet. No diesel engines, and no creaking, fatigued metal. Just the sound of the wind and the ocean waves. Genji sat on the ship's stern, watching the churn of water from its propellers pass by into the distance as the ship traveled on. Predawn light was beginning to color the sky with indigo tones and hints of orange.

Footsteps came up behind Genji. It sounded like Reyes.

"Genji," Reyes greeted him gruffly. "The fuck is this?"

Reyes threw an object down in front of Genji. It was a pile of bloody rope - the one he had used to tie up Little Sojiro, before killing him. Genji stared at it, saying nothing. After it was clear he wasn't going to speak, Reyes continued on, his voice controlled and clipped, showing his underlying anger.

"I know this is personal for you. That's what powers you through this, gives you strength. But take my advice on this: don't lose your head." He paused, and leaned down to look Genji straight in the eyes. "And don't you - EVER - lie to me again. No more fuck-ups like this. We clear?"

Carefully, Genji rose from his seat, and turned to face Reyes before bowing deeply.

"My deepest apologies, Commander. It will not happen again," he said solemnly.

"Makre sure it doesn't, Genji. For both our sakes."

With that, Reyes turned, and departed. Genji only stopped bowing once he heard Reyes close the door he had come in through. His body began shaking; at least, the original parts of his body did. His right hand and legs were calm and steady. It left Genji feeling as though he were half-hot, half-cold. It was a strange sensation; he could feel exactly where his skin ended, and the artificial skin began.

The rope was still on the deck in front of where Genji had been sitting. Walking over, he picked it up, and turned it through his hands slowly, as though considering it. Moving slowly to the ship's railing, Genji bundled it up and threw it overboard. As the dawn's light grew, Genji stood still, watching it float away into the distance, until it became a speck, and then disappeared behind a cresting wave.


	11. Real Talk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gabe gets back from a mission, and spends the night and the next morning with Jack. They have a discussion about their future together.

The smell of coffee pushed Gabe's brain into a state which could generously be described as 'mostly awake.' He groaned, and turned away from the sunlight sneaking in through the blinds.

"Good morning," Jack called out from the other room. He had a fancy officer's quarters in the dormitory, which meant having an actual bedroom separate from the living room slash kitchenette, as well as an extra half-bath. It was the very height of luxury. Gabe had snuck in the previous evening after getting back from the last of his strike missions in the Pacific, and he and Jack had spent the night together.

Jack walked in holding two mugs of coffee, before halting and scowling as he saw Gabe curled up in his bed's blankets, facing away from daylight. Sighing, Jack set down the mugs on his dresser, and moved to the foot of the bed before ripping its blankets off.

Gabe made a noise between a grunt and a yell, and sat up, wrapping his arms around his bare shoulders.

"Asshole," he grumbled. "You've used me for my body, and now you're kicking me out?"

"Not yet," Jack responded, moving to retrieve the mugs of coffee. "And maybe I just want you to actually recover from your jet lag, instead of becoming a nocturnal zombie like you usually do between missions." He offered a mug to Gabe, who took it.

"Being a zombie has worked just fine so far," Gabe objected, taking a sip.

Jack just raised on eyebrow at him.

"Shut up," Gabe mumbled, drinking more coffee.

Jack sat down on the side of the bed, next to Gabe. He was already dressed in his full uniform, its blue and white cloth bedazzled with medals. Gabe was wearing a pair of Jack's boxers. They had an American flag across the butt.

"But seriously," Jack continued on, "I know you must be tired. You and your team have been doing great work, and you deserve a break after taking apart their shipping network like that. I just-" he paused for a moment, searching for words. "I miss you. I want to spend this time together, before one of us flies off again."

Gabe sighed, and looked down at his feet.

"What is it?" Jack probed.

"How long are we going to be like this?" Gabe replied softly.

"What do you mean?" Jack asked quickly, anxiously.

"I mean, when was the last time we spent more than a few days together? You know I - I feel the same way about you, Jack. But back when the crisis was over, and we got sent to the opposite sides of the world, I thought - well, I thought eventually I might get used to you not being there.

"But... that never happened. You're the only one who ever got it all: the sort of person I am, the sort of person I have to be to do my job. And whenever I'm tired, or frustrated, you just kinda pop into my head, and you usually scowl at me, and tell me to calm the fuck down. But it's just not as good as the real you, here, next to me."

Gabe paused, smiling softly to himself, and took a breath in and out before continuing.

"I love you, but what are we doing? When are we going to be together again?" he finished.

Turning to look at Jack, he saw that his partner was wiping tears away from his eyes.

"Oh, Jesus, I didn't mean to - this was a heavy topic to bring up out of nowhere," Gabe sputtered, looking around for tissues.

Jack shook his head. "It's ok," he managed to get out. "It's ok. I was just... afraid. Afraid you'd stop wanting me in your life."

"No, Jack, no. Never. I'm sorry you thought that."

Gabe moved closer to Jack, and put his arms around him. They sat like that for a few minutes, until Jack's tears stopped, and Gabe got up to go get him paper towels to blow his nose on.

"Geez," Jack chuckled, slightly recovered. "Didn't see that one coming."

"It was a lot, I know."

"No, you're right. You're absolutely right. I love you too. I want to make this work. I want to be - together. It's just the 'how' that makes it hard."

They both sighed. The 'how' was difficult indeed. Even though it was officially taboo because of rank, the true nature of their relationship was not entirely unknown throughout Overwatch, particularly among their friends. Jack suspected the only reason the entire base didn't know was the incredible effectiveness Gabe's Death Stare had in quelling rumors, but even that could only go so far. If they wanted to be together, out in the open, one of them would absolutely have to give up their position.

"I wasn't sure if I should bring this up, but now I think it's the right time," Jack ventured. "I've been... feeling tired. Of being a figurehead, of being a pawn in political games. Of Overwatch. I'm starting to think about stepping down."

Gabe's eyes widened. "Really? Don't go doing anything dumb just cause I-"

"No, I want this. Gabe, I don't know if you've noticed, but we don't exactly look as young and perky as our new recruits these days. Heck, we don't even look as young and perky as our logistics managers. I think it's about time for a new generation to step up."

The image of Genji, alone and confused on the ship's stern in the Pacific, flashed through Gabe's mind. He had to do something about that kid.

"Shoot, I really need to go," Jack blurted out, seeing the time on his bedside clock. "Another damn photo-op. And they'll need to put extra make-up on me now, so people don't notice the heroic leader of Overwatch looks like he was bawling his eyes out right before the picture."

Jack stood up, brushing off his uniform and straightening out the various bits of his regalia.

"Let's talk more later," Gabe suggested. "We'll figure this out."

Jack nodded, and the pair kissed. Jack left, leaving Gabe alone in his bed. Gabe lay there for a few minutes more, before getting up and showering. He thought about the concept: of Jack no longer being in Overwatch, of them being together, for good. It seemed too big, too different, to be real. He hardly knew why he had brought it up in the first place. Would he still be able to run Blackwatch? Not in the way that he had been, for sure. He would have to find a way to hand off more responsibility, start training someone who could keep a hand on the reins. It seemed like he'd just gotten Blackwatch off the drawing board, but some changes always seemed to come too soon.

Gabe finished showering, dried off, and dressed in the same clothes he had worn to Jack's quarters. At the door, he turned to look back into the room, and imagined living there, with Jack. It felt good. Turning, he started to bring up his mental to-do list for the day, and the feeling began to fade.


	12. A Normal Day at Work

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Returning to Overwatch HQ, Genji goes in for his 5,000 mile tune-up. Angela Ziegler finds a curiosity during the process. Reyes returns to base with a new Blackwatch member. Genji does not like him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> guess who forgot they had to write in McCree at some point, ding ding, yes, that's correct it's me, the author

The morning after Genji's return to the Overwatch base in Switzerland started off the same way they always did: a check-up with Angela Ziegler. After procrastinating to the last possible minute in his room (which was no more than a bed, desk, and bathroom), Genji would reluctantly head over to the medical wing. There, he'd go directly to the cybernetics suite, a large operating-theater that held all sorts of various equipment. He had no idea what most of it was used for; the only part that he had to use was the chair, the one in the room's center, which was shaped to hold his body alone.

Once Genji arrived, he would lay down in it, and a nurse would take his vitals, then give him the mask with nitrous oxide. What happened next wasn't painful, just... disorienting. Jarring. Near the base of his spine, Genji could feel the chair's interface pins make alignment to the implants underneath the skin. And then, suddenly as flipping a switch, the absence would fall over him. All the extra senses that had grown to be a part of him, the exquisite detail and resolution of his new arm's touch, the position of his legs, were gone - replaced by a numbness, a void. Genji was left with only his left arm and his torso, as he'd been when they'd found him. Then Angela and her assistants would descend on him, and begin taking him apart.

Afterwards, the memories and sense of time of the procedure never flowed quite right, or seemed to have taken long. The anaesthetic helped with that part. But Genji could always recall snippets, flashes - of his foot being carried across the room, or watching as his right arm was detached at the elbow, like he was a broken omnic being taken apart. There were sounds of high-pressure water spraying and the smell of oil. Early on, Genji had tried to close his eyes and wait for it to be over, but found that only made it worse. He would imagine all sorts of things: that it had all been a dream, he'd never left the hospital in Japan, or they'd broken something, and couldn't put him back together. It was better to keep his eyes open and witness the process.

In the end, they always got him assembled back together right. This time was no different than the others, except that it was a relatively quick one. It was still before lunch when they finished. And just as suddenly as they'd disappeared, his senses returned to him, and the interface pins clicked away from his spine.

Genji sat up, moving his arms and his legs, reveling in their return. As unpleasant as each session was, he couldn't deny the fact that afterwards, his limbs felt as though they'd regained strength and mobility. Some things just had to be endured. His mind beginning to clear, Genji stood up, and began to put his uniform back on. Angela began walking over to him.

"You're set for today, Genji," she said, tapping at something on her tablet. "Oh, next time you see Commander Reyes, please ask - or rather, tell him - that if he wants your next round of upgrades to go on schedule, he needs to stop skipping his check-up. He's overdue by two years."

"Upgrades?" Genji asked, looking at Angela curiously.

"Yes," she nodded. "With the results we've collected, we're already prototyping the next generation of your prosthetics. So we don't have to do all of this-" she said, indicating their surroundings in the medical suite "- every time you get back. I thought I'd emailed you about it."

"...I have an email here?"

"Ah," Angela grimaced. "I see the problem. Maybe you should check into that. Anyway, please tell Reyes."

With that, she turned and walked out of the room, leaving Genji alone with the assistants doing clean-up work. Something about her had seemed different the last few times Genji had seen her. She'd grown colder to him. Genji wasn't sure if she had been joking about holding back his upgrades. Looking back, he wasn't sure what he'd done to offend her, if anything. Maybe she was just done with him now that he'd given her the results she wanted. He didn't know.

Genji finished getting dressed, and left the medical wing to go get food. There was still more to come in the day.

* * *

Angela's stomach grumbled as she opened the lab's dessicator, removing the small sample tray holding a piece of debris which had been lodged in part of Genji's artificial knuckle.

"Hush, not now," she whispered to herself, placing the sample tray in the benchtop multi-analyzer - a machine that looked like a microwave, but cost a few hundred thousand euros more. Its doors clicked shut securely, and it hummed quietly, powering up. Angela sat down at its control station, and began finding her sample under the analyzer's microscope. Servos whirred inside the machine beside her as she zeroed in on the little white flake which had been bugging her since she had seen it fall into the debris tray during Genji's hand maintenance.

The magnified image of the white shard filled the entire screen on the console, revealing its jagged edges. Angela switched on the analyzer's X-ray, and watched its fluorescence data come in. There were big peaks on the histogram fitting calcium and phosphorous. It was a piece of bone, as she'd realized the moment she'd seen it. She just hadn't wanted it to be true.

Angela sighed, leaning back in her chair. She'd made a mistake agreeing to this project. That was the other truth she'd reluctantly been coming to accept. She simply couldn't be proud of her work here, with how it was being used.

She was still obligated to complete Genji's phase 2 upgrades. But after that, her part would be done. She could hand off the rest. Let Blackwatch get someone else to do their own dirty work. She could do better. Would do better, next time.

Turning off the analyzer, she retrieved her sample, looking at the tiny flake of a person's body which had come from god-knows-where. Angela got a piece of scotch tape, and folded the fragment inside the tape. She put it in her pocket, to move to her desk drawer later. She wouldn't let herself forget this.

* * *

The dropship arrived at the roof's landing pad right on time, 1700 hours. Through the glass windows of the waiting area, Genji still heard the scream of its engines, felt their blast rattle the panes. Then, the autopilot cut the throttle, and the noise began to quiet. The ship's ramp swung down, and a man stepped out onto it.

It was not Reyes, as Genji had expected; this man was younger, shorter, and smiling to boot - as though the world itself was entertaining to him. He had a shock of ragged brown hair, and long, shaggy sideburns to match. Worn jeans clinched with a large golden belt buckle and a t-shirt hugged his body tightly, and Genji could see the outline of a bandage underneath his shirt. The man turned back to the dropship, and opened his mouth to say something to someone inside of it.

Reyes emerged from it, and scowled at the man, whose cocky smile dissipated. Reyes motioned for him to walk forward, and they made their way towards the building's roof entrance. The newcomer entered first, and spotted Genji standing by the windows.

"Oh, ah, howdy!" he stuttered, his eyes darting between Genji's prosthetic arm, throat implant, and face. "How are you? I'm-"

"Genji," Reyes interrupted as he entered the room. "Good, you're here. This is Jesse McCree. He's joining us in Blackwatch."

Genji blinked, looking again at this confused man, 'McCree,' and trying to figure out what, if any, use he could have. Well, Genji had to admit, he was at least handsome, in a messy sort of way.

McCree looked to Reyes, and then back to Genji again as the silence stretched on.

"Um, well, I'm pleased as punch to meet you, Genji," he drawled, and then reached upward as if to doff a hat, before awkwardly realizing it wasn't there, and turning it into an ear scratch.

"The pleasure is mine," Genji intoned flatly, inclining his head in a very slight bow. Glancing down, he saw the man's belt buckle was embossed with the letters 'B A M F.' It seemed like a bad joke Genji didn't get.

"Well, don't you both jump to be best friends all at once now," Reyes growled. "I'm taking Jesse to his quarters so he can settle in. Genji, meet me in my office in 20 minutes." With that, he and McCree got into the elevator, leaving Genji alone to his thoughts.

Leaving the waiting area, he walked out onto the roof, moving over towards the railing. In the distance, the Alps jutted upward from the horizon. The sight of them was strangely calming to him; they looked so pure, so untouched, so impassable. At this hour, the glancing light of the sun lit their snow-capped peaks up with brilliant shades of yellow and orange. Genji knew that all that was behind them was Italy, but that seemed too mundane to be true. He couldn't help but imagine they hid something more precious and secret, a pathway to some unknown world. Sometimes he imagined leaving, escaping, and crossing them to enter that new world, that new life.

But that was fantasy. He was different now; committed, purposeful. He had a worthwhile job to do. If having some rookie tag along with him to make sure he didn't go out of line again was the price to pay for a mistake, then he'd gladly pay it. Going back inside, Genji went to wait by Reyes's office.

* * *

Commander Reyes came by soon, opening the door and waving Genji in.

"Now, before you start objecting, I want to say this isn't just about you, Genji. The simple fact of the matter is that we're spread too thin here, with just you and me on active duty. We got away with it in the Pacific, but we're going to need more hands on deck in the future. And McCree, well...

Reyes paused here, glancing out his office's tiny window at the sunset, while scratching his chin.

"He looks like an idiot, yeah. Sounds like one too. But there's a rare talent in him, just like you. We need that. I want you to show him around the base tonight, and take him to the practice range. See what he can do. If you can honestly tell me you don't think we can use him, I'll put him back where I found him. Otherwise, get used to him. You can't do everything by yourself."

Genji grimaced, but bowed.

"I understand."

Turning to leave the room, he hesitated at the doorway.

"What is it?" Reyes asked impatiently, already opening something else on his computer.

"Dr. Ziegler needs to see you. For a check-up. She says she my upgrades might be 'delayed' otherwise."

Reyes snorted. "Is that so? I guess the good doctor has some teeth after all. I'll take care of it, Genji."

Genji nodded, and left to go be a tour guide for McCree.

After Genji had left, Reyes stared absently at his monitor for a few minutes. He let out a breath, and took out a glass and the whisky from his bottom desk drawer. After savoring a few sips of it, he opened his mail, and accepted the invite Angela Ziegler had sent him for an appointment time she'd conveniently had open the next morning.

* * *

McCree's room was just down the hallway from Genji's. Passing it the first time, Genji heard the shower running, and decided to return 5 minutes later. The shower was still running when he came back. Impatiently, Genji knocked at the door. Better to get this over with.

The water stopped, and a few moments later the door opened. McCree was standing on the other side, dressed in two towels: one around his head, the other around his waist. Above his bare, hairy chest, his bandage was gone, showing a healing bullet wound in his shoulder.

"Evenin', Genji," McCree greeted him, nodding. "I was expectin' you, just not quite so soon. It's been a while since I was able to take a shower longer than a minute or so. Figured I'd enjoy it while I can."

Stepping back from the door, he motioned for Genji to enter his room. It was the mirror image of Genji's, literally - the bed and bathroom were on opposite sides from his.

"Now let me just get gussied up, and you can take me out and show me the sights," McCree said, and slid back into his bathroom.

"Please, take your time," Genji replied, feeling his (or anyone's) sarcasm would fly under McCree's radar. Then, Genji heard the hair dryer come on. He hadn't even realized their rooms had hair dryers.

Ten minutes later, Genji was about to leave and tell Reyes to ship McCree back to whatever pit he had come from, when he finally emerged from the bathroom, dressed in the same clothes he'd arrived in.

"I thought you were getting 'gussied up,'" Genji commented.

"I am!" McCree stated proudly, putting his thumbs through his belt loops and puffing out his chest.

"...let's go," Genji said after a pause.

They filed out of McCree's room, and began the grand tour of the Overwatch headquarters.


	13. Practice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Genji takes McCree to the firing range to evaluate his skills. McCree gives what he believes is a mediocre performance.

"Ignore the sign on the wall," Genji said, as he and McCree came back to the dormitory's lobby, finishing their tour around the Overwatch headquarters. "Our training center is elsewhere." Pushing open the exit, he motioned for McCree to go ahead before falling in step behind him.

"Why do y'all in Blackwatch train separate from everyone else? Ain't that bad for team spirit, or somethin'?" McCree asked, as they started down a path towards woods at the edge of the campus.

"Maybe. That's how it is," Genji responded.

In truth, Genji had wondered the same thing himself. He wasn't at the Overwatch headquarters often, but even when he was nobody seemed interested in talking to him, or even sitting near him. Word seemed to get around when you were one of Reyes's crew. How the man had enough pull to get his own facilities, his own funds, his independence from oversight... that was another curious matter. Somebody at the top was clearly looking out for him. Genji had no idea who it was, but they clearly had a lot of influence.

Gravel crunched under their feet as they continued down the path towards the Blackwatch training center. The outline of a building hidden in the woods was just becoming visible in the forest ahead of them. It was a clear, cold night, with strong, gusting winds that quickly pushed the occasional cloud across the starry sky overhead, and bent the trees' branches. Genji and McCree's breaths misted in the air as they walked. McCree shivered, and clutched his hands to his arms.

"Jesus, it's cold here," he shuddered, before glancing over at Genji. "Aren't you freezing? You're, well... not even wearin' a shirt."

It was true, sort of. The exo-suit Genji wore that assisted him in his movements didn't cover his upper-left chest and arm. That was one area where nothing artificial had been needed, and so they'd left that area open, figuring... what, that he'd want to wear a t-shirt over the entire mess? Genji had never been shy about other people seeing his body, and it seemed to matter even less now. He left it uncovered.

"No," Genji lied. "I'm fine." Where exposed to the air, his skin was covered in goosebumps, and ached for warmth - but Genji liked the ache. Liked the reality, the familiarity of it. In a body where everything else seemed to change, to be taken away and returned as the press of a button, he appreciated the reliability of feeling that exposing patches of bare, relatively undamaged skin on his body gave him.

Genji noticed that McCree was still looking at him. He returned his gaze, challenging the impropriety, but McCree just met his eyes.

"...what in Sam Hill happened to you?" he asked bluntly.

Genji snorted. Then, he chuckled, and finally laughed out loud. He had to give it to McCree: the man had guts. Nobody else had ever asked him point-blank why three of his four appendages had to be replaced with cybernetic prosthetics. Not even Angela.

"You are quite straightforward, aren't you, McCree?"

McCree smiled uncomfortably. "Yeah, I've been called such. Worse than that, too. If I overstepped a bound, I apolo-"

"It was crocodiles," Genji interrupted. "A swarm of them attacked me and my lover on the beach. I fought them off, but at the cost of my own body. My lover could no longer bear to look on me, and I exiled myself to distant lands. And so, here I am."

McCree chuckled. "Better'n my story. I ran with some bad people. Made some bad deals. Got caught, went to jail."

He glanced up at the sky, as if reflecting on the memories.

"But then that Reyes, he just swooped in, picked me right out. Now, I gotta wonder if he didn't set the whole thing up. I'd be the first to admit I brought this on m'self, but a man likes to know what sorta fella he's workin' for. Know what I mean?"

Something clicked inside Genji's head, in a way it hadn't before. He'd been too angry, too confused, too incapacitated for it to occur before. A suspicion about Reyes's sudden appearance at the foot of his hospital bed, back in Japan. Like he'd known just when to be there.

"Yes," Genji replied. "Reyes is exactly the type of person who would do that."

McCree huffed. "Thought so."

They continued on to the training center, walking in silence as thoughts turned over in their heads.

* * *

Entering the training center, Genji warmed up the holographic target range and unlocked the weapons cabinet. Pulling out a pistol, he offered it to McCree, who looked at it with distaste.

"Don'cha got a nice, simple revolver in your fancy armory? Semi-auto pistols ain't exactly my weapon of choice," McCree objected, frowning.

"No," Genji responded, still holding the gun out to McCree. "We have pistols and rifles."

"Fine," McCree acceded, taking it in his hand and looking it over. "I'll do what I can with it."

Genji went to the controls on the wall, pulling up an advanced program he used for throwing practice. McCree moved forward to the range's firing point. Then, he planted his feet, stood up straight, and held the gun at the ready, and took a breath. Then he nodded.

"Show me why you're here, McCree," Genji challenged him, and launched the program.

The targets started popping up. And, almost just as quickly, they went down - dispatched by quick, controlled shots directly impacting their center of mass. Genji watched McCree at work. He looked different now: purposeful, composed. His feet were planted on the ground, his form flowing up to bring all the control and precision he could muster into his arms, which so quickly and carefully moved the gun in his hands to bear down on the targets glinting in his eyes. It stirred something in Genji's memory: the recollection of a lazy summer day, when he'd skipped out on his lessons by wandering around Hanamura castle's various rooftops, where tutors couldn't find him.

He'd made it over to the temple when he had noticed Hanzo practicing his archery in the courtyard below. Something about it caught Genji's eye, and he sat down, dangling his legs over a ledge. Hanzo paced back and forth, drawing and firing arrows as he went, yet always managing to hit a bulls-eye in the center of his target. From the rhythm of his feet, to the angle of his elbow drawing the arrows, to the solidity and stability of his arm holding the bow - every motion and position was integrated, smooth, natural. It was the sort of display which makes something look so easy that you know it must actually be unbelievably difficult.

That was the moment when Genji realized that he would never be as good as Hanzo at archery. Genji had become old enough to learn the hard way that practice normally won out over raw talent, but that practice built on talent was best of all. And looking at Hanzo working below, it was clear that his talent at archery simply exceeded Genji's. It was as clear as looking at a fish swimming in water, or a bird in the sky. Hard work could only get you so far; it was important to understand one's own limitations as well. Otherwise, one might as well pretend that they could change the color of the sky, if only they tried hard enough.

And so, when Genji looked at McCree drawing a bead on his targets, breathing, and firing, he knew that the man had talent, just as Reyes had said. He knew that McCree could complement him on missions, give him cover, help him do things which he couldn't do alone. In the end, that was all that mattered.

McCree's gun clicked, but didn't fire. He swore, and fumbled with it, clearly unfamiliar with its design. This was understandable, the event seemed to make him completely lose the composure he'd shown, yielding him back to the anxious energy he'd shown before. After reloading, he re-took his stance, but his shooting didn't have the same strength as it had previously, some of his shots missing entirely.

After a period of time that seemed both short and long, McCree shot the final target, and the program ended. He had still gotten a score that Genji would consider decent, particularly for a first attempt at the program.

"Piece of shit," McCree swore, taking the ammo out of the gun and checking its chamber. "I haven't shot that bad since - well, I couldn't say. Get me a revolver and I'll show you what I can really do."

He put the gun back on the empty spot in the rack, and started rubbing his right shoulder.

"Fuck it all," he muttered. "Let's go back. I'm just... tired."

Genji shook himself out of his trance.

"Ok." He shut down the target range, and locked the weapons back up. They left the Blackwatch training center, and started up the path back to the main Overwatch building.

* * *

The night had grown chiller during the time McCree had been demonstrating his marksmanship, and so Genji suggested they run back to the dormitory after McCree's shivering became noticeable. Setting what he thought was an easy pace, Genji found that he still had to slow down from that to accomodate McCree. He could set a solid pace and keep it, but that pace just wasn't very fast.

"Your speed needs work," Genji commented as he ran alongside McCree.

"I'm - not used - to runnin'" McCree huffed between breaths. "I - shit!"

He stumbled back into a walk, and clutched his shoulder. A spot of red stained his T-shirt where he had been sporting a bandage earlier.

"Fuck. Thought I was done with this wound," he said, bitterly.

"...do you need a doctor?" Genji asked, cautiously.

"No! I'm not a kid, I can take care of this m'self. Just need to get back."

McCree frowned, and kept walking on, holding his arm close to his body. Genji walked alongside him the rest of the way back. McCree was shivering again by the time they entered the building. As the warm air hit them, he breathed a sigh of relief. Getting in the elevator, Genji observed that the red spot on his shirt had stopped growing. After ascending to their floor, the doors dinged, and they stepped out.

Walking back to their respective rooms, McCree bent over and pulled his shirt over his head, inspecting the stain on it and the state of his own shoulder. His wound looked messier than before, but wasn't bleeding anymore. McCree was heavier-set than Genji, but Genji could see that he had a compact, powerful build. There were muscles in all the right places, and on top of them, that hair which seemed to lead down his chest and into his pants.

McCree looked out of the corner of his eyes at Genji, who realized he had been staring. He broke his gaze, his cheeks suddenly hot. After a few more steps down the hall, they reached McCree's room, and Genji nodded at him in farewell. But McCree reached out and caught his arm as he walked away.

"Genji... I need t'know. This, tonight, was a test, wasn't it? And I don't feel I did particularly distinguished job. So let me make it up. Let me show you how useful I can be," McCree offered.

Genji wasn't sure if McCree was suggesting what he seemed to be, but then he stepped closer, holding Genji's arm, and whispered in his ear. "Fancy a shower?"

McCree's body was close enough to Genji's for him to feel the warmth emanating from his skin, still adjusting to coming inside from the cold. Nobody had touched Genji, had moved to be next to him like this, since before that day in Hanamura, a lifetime ago. Genji had been aching for this, unsure if it would ever happen again like it had in the past, if anyone would see him as something other than a fetish object. Some people had a thing for Omnics; he was sure they'd find him palatable as well, but thought it likely that people who preferred machines over humans wouldn't make for the most active or interesting partners in bed. But here was McCree - so close, so warm.

Genji looked up at McCree's face. He was smiling; comfortably, casually, suggestively. But Genji had seen enough faces like this to distinguish the subtle features that separated desire and desperation, and McCree was clearly in the latter category. Turning away, Genji looked back down the hallway in front of him, into nothing.

"I believe that would be... unwise. You should get some rest and heal. I am sure Reyes will start training us together soon."

"...does that mean..."

"Do you know why you annoy me, McCree?" Genji asked. "I know now. You remind me of myself."

McCree laughed, once, and let go of Genji's arm. "Do I, now? How flatterin' to know where I stand."

"You should be flattered. Goodnight."

"Well, g'night then, pardner," McCree responded.

Genji gave a wave, and walked back to his room.

* * *

Jesse McCree closed the door, and then leaned on it, slowly sliding down onto the floor. He pounded the carpet with his fist, and then cursed as that sent another bolt of pain through his shoulder.

"You're an idiot through and through, arent'cha, Jesse?" he asked into the air. "A real fuckin' idiot."

He sat there for a few minutes, thinking through all the ways he'd embarassed himself in front of Reyes and Genji. Most people he could get through with bluster and confidence, but those two... they were something else. You could tell just by the way they looked at you; they were the real deal. And he was just an amateur gunslinger, hoping they wouldn't notice he'd been faking it all along. Hoping they wouldn't send him back to jail, to rot for the rest of his days.

But he wasn't going back. Not yet. Genji had made that clear, after Jesse's last-ditch effort to ingratiate himself. He still had a chance. In the end, that was all that mattered. After some more time had passed, he stood up, turned on the lights, and went to go wash and re-dress his wound.

* * *

Genji had taken off the exo-suit, and was lying in bed, thinking about the warmth from McCree's body, when his tablet rang. Genji ignored it, and kept on thinking. He'd just finished thinking, and was in the bathroom, when there was a knock on his door. Angrily, he wrapped a towel around his waist, and went to answer it.

"What?" he yelled, opening the door to see Reyes on the other side.

"Hello to you, too, Genji. I saw you and McCree are back. What did you think of him?"

"He is fine. Skilled, like you said. I approve."

Reyes cocked an eyebrow. "That all? What abo-"

"Commander," Genji interrupted. "Let us continue this tomorrow."

"In a hurry, Genji?"

"Yes! I'm horny and want to masturbate more before going to sleep!" Genji blurted, the force of his honesty sending his hastily-spoken words echoing far down the hallway.

Reyes's mouth dropped slightly, and he did something Genji had thought impossible: he turned a deep shade of red.

"Oh, I'm, ah, ok. We'll talk tomorrow," he stuttered, before quickly walking away.

A strange feeling of pride rose in Genji's chest. He had done the impossible: scared off the infamous Blackwatch Commander. He treasured the moment, before returning to his room and opening up the browser on his tablet. He was going to make this opportunity count, since he doubted the same excuse would work twice.


	14. Bad News

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angela finds something surprising at Reyes's latest check-up, and it falls on her to deliver the news.

Angela wanted a drink. She wondered if the liquor store in the next town over was still open - she didn't buy alcohol often, and there seemed to be a mysterious and arcane set of rules that governed when liquor stores were open. What time was it anyway? 6 pm on a Wednesday. She gave it a 50/50 chance that they were still open. Sighing, she checked the water level in her office's kettle, and set it on to boil. She was trying to take better care of herself these days, but it seemed like the world had other plans.

Reyes had seemed fine during his check-up the previous day. Good vitals - impressive, actually, for a man his age. His musculature seemed like it belonged to a athletic twenty-five year old, much less a - forty? fifty? - year old man. She had taken some blood for a standard battery of tests, and then sent him on his way, expecting that to be the end of it.

Then, the tests had come back. At first, Angela had assumed whoever had run the tets had fucked it up royally, as they sometimes did. Got their cat's hair stuck in the sequencer, or something like that. It happened more often than people knew. So she had gone down to the lab, gotten the rest of his blood out of the freezer, and run the tests herself. But in the end, it wasn't the analysis which was fucked-up; it was Reyes's DNA.

It looked like the sort of horror story she'd heard of as a med student, from people who'd seen patients that had gotten unlicensed gene therapies. They'd been promised all sorts of things, from superhuman strength to immortality, and ended up with results ranging from cancer, autoimmune disorders, to a complete genetic breakdown, or a combination of all three. Properly applied therapies could improve muscle hypertrophy or expected lifespan, it was true, but it was still a tricky technology. Some people just didn't care about that part as long as they could make a quick buck. Fighting abuses like that was one of the reasons Angela had decided to join Overwatch.

From his test results alone, Angela would have said that Reyes must have recently gotten one of those black-market gene therapies; His DNA had all the signatures of being manipulated by an improperly-designed vector. And looking back at his tests from 5, 10 years ago, Angela found no evidence of a mistargeted delivery vector rampaging through his system, so the change had to be recent.

But the stubborn, calculating head of covert operations was one of the least-likely people Angela could think of to run out and get a shady muscle-booster as part of a mid-life crisis. She had no doubt he could afford the real thing, if he wanted it. That's when Angela remembered the REDACTED section on his medical record.

Of course. It was obvious; the man was a veteran of the Omnic crisis, after all. The situation had been desperate in those days, and any advantage had been worth pursuing. Angela had read some of the declassified files, as they trickled out over the years. Many of the modern gene therapies were actually derived from a top-secret US military program, Project Bluechip.

Over a breakneck development schedule of 18 months, it delivered a gene therapy for use in humans that could improve recovery speed, strength, and overall athletic capability. The number of people it had been applied to was still kept secret, but Angela had no doubt she could include one man on the list of its recipients: Gabriel Reyes.

The problems with the therapy were kept under wraps until well after the war was over. For a while, nobody had cared the cost the victory came at; the sheer joy of survival overwhelmed all else. But as the world came back to its feet, people started asking questions. One was why healthy, strong US veterans kept getting sick and dying. The Bluechip therapy was the answer.

While it had been ingenious in its self-replicating design, the Bluechip targeting vector never left the hosts's system, even after its job was done. As it hung around through the years, eventually, through random damage - a medical x-ray, a day at the beach, exposure to a carcinogen - the Bluechip vector would mutate. And then it would go wild, like an angry child with a pair of scissors let loose in a library. Only in this case, the books in the library were filled with genetic code that described how to build a human and keep them alive.

And so, many of the veterans who'd gotten the Bluechip enhancements simply dropped dead, months, years, or decades after the Omnic crisis was over. The vector was just a time-bomb, sitting in their cells, waiting to go off. And now, it seemed that Reyes's time had come. And Angela Ziegler was the lucky one who would get to tell one of the least approachable officers in the entire organization that he was going to die. Hence, her sudden and uncharacteristic desire for alcohol. Over on her shelf, Angela's kettle clicked, and ceased bubbling. She would have to make do with tea and a piece of chocolate instead.

* * *

There was a knock on Gabriel Reyes's office door.

"Come in!" he shouted.

The door swung open, and an unusual visitor stepped into the room: Angela Ziegler.

"Doctor," Reyes greeted her, standing up from his chair. "To what do I owe this rare pleasure?"

Angela bore a serious expression on her face.

"I'm - afraid I have bad news, Commander. Shall we get right down to it?"

"Please," Reyes answered, sitting back down, and indicating Angela should take a chair in front of him. She seated herself, folding her hands in her lap and sitting up straight.

"First of all, are you familiar with the Bluechip project?" she began.

"Shit," Reyes swore. Something in the tall, strong man seemed to deflate; he rounded his shoulders, and leaned forward onto his desk. "Is that what this is about?"

Angela nodded. "I'm afraid so. You received the experimental treatment, correct?"

"Yeah," he nodded. "I did. So did almost everyone I worked with. Back then, it was a real miracle. Extra strength, extra speed, it gave you it all. And above that, it gave us... hope. A boost. Confidence that we could always adapt, always overcome our problems. Nobody cared what it might do to us down the road. For a lot of us... it didn't matter."

"So you're aware of its effects, 'down the road,' then."

"Yeah. Some of the first ones to go, back when it still made the news - I knew them. Fought alongside them. The idea that their bodies just stopped working, that the same would happen to me-" he shook his head. "I couldn't think about it. None of us could. We all just kept going on with our lives, hoping it would pass us by."

He paused, collecting his thoughts for a moment.

"I assumed that this far along... it meant I'd made it."

Angela shook her head solemnly. "I'm sorry. It doesn't work like that."

They sat in silence for several moments, as Reyes processed the information. The buzzing of the lights and the hiss of the ventilation became the only sounds in the room, and seemed to grow in volume with each passing moment until they became almost unbearable.

Finally, Reyes's attention snapped back to Angela.

"Jack - Commander Morrison. He also received the treatment, at the same time as me. Is the same thing happening to him?"

Angela hesitated. "I'm afraid as a matter of patient confidentiality, I can't-"

Reyes shook his head, agitated. "As a deputy Commander of Overwatch, it's my duty to evaluate conditions that could affect our organization's stability. Confidentiality doesn't apply here; I need to know if two high-ranking officers are going to drop dead in the near future."

Angela pursed her lips, but knew that Reyes was right. She pulled out her tablet, and waited as the a server somewhere chewed through Morrison's latest DNA profile, looking for signs of the Bluechip vector runaway.

"Commander Morrison's last check was two months ago. As of then, his profile didn't show any signs of the runaway process, though that's no guarantee of its dormancy in the future."

Reyes put his head in his hands. "That's not good enough. We should have seen this coming. Should have made a plan. Are there still no viable treatment options?"

"No. With the US government's refusal to reveal the number of treated soldiers, public funding for a cure never materialized. Other treatment options simply aren't compatible with the Bluechip vector's complex behavior. Attempting to apply them would just accelerate the process."

Reyes gave a bitter laugh. "Typical. Bury the problem and let it die off on its own. Can't say I haven't applied the same tactic." He rubbed his temples with his fingers.

So that's it, then. How long do I have left?"

"...going from the state of your DNA and the publicly available data, my best estimate is between 6 to 18 months."

The numbers hung in the air.

"Jesus," Reyes breathed out.

"I understand this is a lot to take in. It could help if you saw one of the councillors on my staff, to help you... prepare."

Reyes didn't respond, audibly or visibly. Angela waited for him. A minute or so passed as they sat in this uncomfortable tableau.

Finally, Reyes stirred, and began to speak.

"Once, a long time ago, when I was a kid, I was hit by a truck. It was a bad accident - I don't remember much from it. The only thing that I can remember - is the image of my mother's face, looking down at me. Her face was contorted in this horrible expression - I still can't describe it. A face can only look like that when the mind behind it is... paralyzed. Overwhelmed by the fear of losing something you can't bear to part with. And when I saw her face like that, it triggered something inside of me. This feeling that, no matter what, I would give it everything I had, that I would keep fighting with every ounce of strength I could muster, and make that fear on my mother's face pass. And I pulled through, and I lived.

"In the end, I was the one who lost her. She died during the Crisis; I wasn't even on the same continent when it happened. Didn't find out until weeks later. And that time, too, it was other people who kept me going. Even today - people might not think it - but there are still people in this world who care for me, and I love them as fiercely as ever.

"Maybe it's too late now. Maybe I'll be wasting the time I have left. But you should know - I'm going to fight this, with everything I have."

Angela didn't know how to respond. Part of her had been expecting something like this from Reyes, but that didn't help her find the right words to say to him. She settled for the best balance she could find between humanity and concern.

"If there is a path forward for you - an overlooked treatment or new approach - I honestly wish you the best in finding it, Commander. But I also urge you to consider how your position will influence the situation. Snake oil is still a widely sold commodity, particularly to those with no other recourse. You'll always have an honest and factual opinion from me and my colleagues here.

Angela hesitated for a moment.

"And should your condition deteriorate to a certain point, please remember that part of my role is to ensure you are capable of fulfilling your duties. If there comes a time when I have to ask you to step down, for your own health and others', I hope you will work with me."

Reyes nodded. "I would expect nothing less from you. Thank you for delivering this news personally, Doctor."

Angela stood up, straightening her lab coat.

"And again, Commander," she said solemnly, "I'm sorry. I understand if you want an external opinions and options, but I will always be here for you. I'll be in touch again soon."

With that, Angela stood up and left the room, closing the door behind her. In the hallway outside, she stood still for a moment, staring at her feet. Somehow, she had the feeling that this would be the start of something long and difficult.


	15. Planning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gabe does some research, and finds an interesting candidate. The pressure of the situation begins to affect him.

A lot of Gabriel Reyes's work boiled down to three things: listening, reading, and watching. He listened to conversations between distant people, tuning in on their emotions, their motives, and built up a map of the network that connected them together. Then, he would read through all the information which leaked out from these people, from their businesses, computers, and tax returns. This helped shed light on the picture he had begun painting, separating the bluffs from the truths, and uncovering the hidden patterns and secret desires that trailed behind most people. And then, he would watch as they went through their lives, making his picture clearer and clearer, until he knew exactly how and where to act.

Only this time, Gabe thought, cricking his neck, waiting and watching was not an option. This time, he'd have to gather everything he could in one fell swoop, and then say his prayers and dive in, hoping the intuition he'd built up over the years wouldn't fail him at this critical juncture. He yawned, took a sip of coffee, and got back to reading medical journals which he was slowly beginning to find semi-comprehensible.

* * *

**Journal of Applied Genetics & Bioengineering B, Volume CVI, Letters & Perspectives**

**A Case for the Return of Self-Replicating Vectors**  
_Moira O'Deorain, PhD_

While self-replicating vectors (SRV) have indisputably shown the greatest flexibility and transfection efficiency among competing techniques (1-3), they are still subject such severe regulatory restrictions that researching them is all but impossible for the largest industrial and governmental laboratories (4). This effectively places a stranglehold on the field of SRV research, as these large research institutions are unwilling to risk their public image; SRVs are still perceived negatively by the public due to their roles in the US Bluechip Project and Soldier Enhancement Program (5-7).

It is an undeniable fact that the rushed introduction of the Bluechip vector into human hosts has caused many fatalities. Whether this decision to apply the not fully-tested vector saved more lives than it cost is a moot point, more suited to historians than scientists. What is relevant is that the historical context has distorted and poisoned even the scentific community's perception of the general field of SRV research, which still contains incredible and untapped potential - strongly demonstrated by experiment and large-scale biomechanical simulations (8-13). The time has come to throw off the shackles of the past, and allow any suitably equipped researcher to study and experient with SRVs.

Estimates have shown that hundreds of veterans who participated in the Soldier Enhancement Program are still alive today (14). However, their time is running out; will we let them perish, or step past our previous mistakes and re-open the field of research which could restore to them long and healthy lifespans? The answer rests in the hands of the scientific and legislative communities.

* * *

Gabe leaned back in his chair, staring at the ceiling. Were there still that many of them left from the old days? Were the repercussions of the Crisis still going to kill them, all these years later? That was something which he couldn't accept. Everyone he knew, everyone he had worked with, deserved better than that.

Moreover, this O'Deorain was one of the few people actively researching in the field who had even mentioned the possibility of finding a cure for veterans of the enhancement program. It seemed like he wouldn't have to spend much time narrowing down his search, since it was narrow to begin with.

Unfortunately, her reputation appeared shaky. Two of her papers had been retracted by publishers after their methodology had been called into question. In particular, several of the methods which she applied ran afoul of regulations in the EU and other regions. One interesting artifact Gabe had found was a copy of a rejected manuscript, with a comment by their own Dr. Ziegler.

"This paper attempts to show us a spaceship in orbit without telling us how it got off the ground. As a result, the work is unreplicable and unscientific. Do not recommend for publication."

Perversely, though, Gabe found this sense of impatience and rule-bending as more of a positive than negative; he had a feeling O'Deorain was doing more behind the scenes than she let on. Given his situation, that would be an advantage. But in the end, he could only do so much conjecture without it becoming overthought garbage, like seeing Jesus in a piece of burnt toast.

Gabe cogitated for a few minutes while staring at the ceiling, then nodded. Sitting back up, he logged into the network and sent out the order to ready a dropship for the next morning. Going in person to get a sense of this O'Deorain was the option his gut had settled on. Standing up, he stretched and yawned, before walking over to his office's sofa, where he laid down and closed his eyes.

* * *

Something was not right. Gabe was surrounded by a darkness, and a heavy, crushing weight which subsumed his body. There was not even the possibility of attempting to move, breathe, or blink. He was simply a presence, frozen like a fly inside of amber. Ahead of him, a dim light appeared: something harsh and clinical, and it came towards him. Inside of it, he saw a scene: Jack lying in a bed, breathing unnaturally slowly. His eyes were hazy, and he stared blankly into the middle distance. Then, as Gabe watched, his breathing stopped. The shape in the bed became still, and vacant. Gabe wanted to cry out, to reach for him, but it was impossible - he was already long dead, entombed deep within the earth. He could do nothing.

On the sofa, Gabe's eyes flipped open. His heart was racing; he felt something nearby, ready to grab him, and pull him into that nightmare. He wanted to run, or fight - beads of sweat formed on his brow, yet he found himself unable to move, as if he were already buried. This state seemed to persist for an eternity, until slowly, the presence behind him seemed to reluctantly seep away, as if biding its time.

Gasping, Gabe finally bolted upright. Was this the start already? It couldn't be - Ziegler had said he should still have months, at the least. But what had just happened to him? Focusing, he concentrated on his breathing, slowing it down, and felt his heart begin to follow suit. Nothing as bad as this had happened to him since the flashbacks he used to get. But this was more of a flash-forward, to something he had to avoid.

Knowing that there would be no more sleep for him that night, Gabe got up. He fought the urge to run upstairs and knock on Jack's door, just to make sure he was alright; that would just alarm him, and lead to questions Gabe wasn't ready to answer yet. Not until he knew more himself. Pulling on a dark hoodie, he left his office, and stalked towards the practice range. Sunrise was still a few hours away.


	16. A New Job

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Moira O'Deorain receives an unexpected visitor. They strike a deal for her employment.

Moira O'Deorain liked to keep a regular schedule. She would figure out the trivialities - where to buy groceries, how often to eat out, the best routes to take - and adhere to that program. A routine was the first thing one needed to establish to live efficiently in a new location, and as a result, Moira had become quite practiced at creating routines.

Currently, she'd just finished a Wednesday breakfast (coffee and oatmeal) and was walking to her office, at the University of Madrid. The office would only be hers for another 2 months, since the University had declined to renew her position; a result of her 'poor publication record.' It was infuriating - she had results, but nobody wanted to see them. In her view, the job of a modern scientist was to do research which sounded impressive, but mundane enough that authorities felt it couldn't really change anything.

Moira shook her head as she walked through a quiet plaza tucked next to the University's biology building. It was unproductive to ruminate on such matters; for the moment, she still had funding and facilities. The best thing to do was utilize them as much as possible before time ran out; she would figure the next step out when it was time. Switching mental tracks, she began to focus on the tasks which she'd set for herself that day.

"Dr. Moira O'Deorain?"

The voice came suddenly from behind her, and Moira quickly turned her head to identify its source. The speaker was a well-built, middle-aged man with a dark goatee, wearing a military uniform. He looked strangely familiar, though she couldn't say why. Behind him were two men she could only think of as 'cyborg ninja' and 'untrustworthy cowboy.' Her first instinct was that this was a prank, but the very convincing-looking VTOL dropship landed behind them suggested otherwise. Her second instinct was that they were here to kidnap or assassinate her, but she suspected professionals would choose a better place than a public area like the plaza. That left the tantalizing prospect that they were here to ask for her services.

After these thoughts had finished racing through her head in a split-second, she opened her mouth to reply.

"Indeed. And you are?"

"Call me Gabe. I'd like to hear your opinion on something, if you can spare the time."

He stepped aside, indicating that Moira should step inside the dropship. As he turned, she caught sight of a patch on his shoulder: an Overwatch sigil, embroidered black-on-black. She raised an eyebrow, still not entirely uncertain that she wasn't being kidnapped.

"What I have to ask you is not something I'd like overheard," Gabe explained. "Don't worry, we'll have you back in plenty time for your lunch at the cafe. Baked cod and a salad today, isn't it?"

Moira yielded a small smile. "Very well. Consider me intrigued."

* * *

As the dropship began to take off, Gabe and Moira seated themselves at a table in the dropship's main cabin. The two others who had been with him had gone forward to the cockpit, closing the door behind themselves.

Leaning forward, Gabe steepled his hands and began to speak.

"What I'm about to ask you is a matter of some sensitivity. Before we begin, I need you to know that what I'm about to tell you will never be heard elsewhere. Leak this information, and there will be consequences."

Moira waved a hand dismissively. "Yes, yes. At this point, I've signed enough NDAs that I don't think I'm legally entitled to speak about anything other than the weather.

"Let's cut to the chase, shall we?" she continued on. "I assume you or someone else high up in Overwatch command is currently undergoing rapid genetic decay due to the Bluechip vector. Or, 'dying,' to put it in layman's terms."

Gabe raised his eyebrows, and sat up.

"How did you-?"

"Did you think you were the first to come to me? That 'perspective' I wrote was essentially an ad. And to be blunt, I find people of your profession rarely show such a... keen interest, shall we say, in the purely theoretical side of my research."

"How many, then? And who?"

"Six have contacted me, not including you. Of those, I was able to treat four; unfortunately, two cases were simply too far gone for even my methods to work. Most are not willing to share their identities, but fortunately one of my patients was willing to serve as a reference, if you wish to contact him - his name is William Hoffman. I believe he said his nickname was 'Nutty.'"

The name seemed to make an impact on Gabe, as his head moved reflexively in recognition.

"So why the secrecy, O'Deorain? Why haven't you announced your success to the world?"

"Because the treatment is incredibly expensive, potentially lethal to the host, and highly illegal; it utilizes a slightly-tweaked version of the original vector, which is now classified as a bioweapon. I don't particularly favor the phrase 'fighting fire with fire,' but it gives you a somewhat accurate idea of my approach to the problem."

"So - let's assume that I check in with my old friend Nutty and he says you're all you claim to be," Gabe postulated. "He tells me that you saved his DNA from being scrambled, and that I should hire you. Exactly how expensive would your expertise be?"

Moira crossed one leg over the other, and leaned back in her seat.

"I have a simple price. Let's be clear; I'm a woman of extraordinary talent, and you have displayed that you are a man of extraordinary means. For us, money comes, and money goes. What I require from you is more than that; I require freedom. Freedom to innovate, to pursue any line of research which I believe to be fruitful, unbound by regulations and committees of hapless old stooges. That is my price. If you can meet it, then among other things, I will re-create my treatment for you. If not, then we will go our separate ways."

Gabe smiled tersely, an expression which one displayed when they saw they had been boxed in.

"Done. On one condition: you need to treat two people."

"Oh?" Moira asked, cocking an eyebrow. "Who's the other lucky soldier?"

Gabe shook his head. "That's on a need-to-know basis."

After placing a finger on her chin in mock consideration, and moving her raised foot around in a few circles, Moira nodded.

"I suppose that's acceptable."

"Sounds like we have a deal, then."

Gabe got up, and walked over to knock on the door to the pilot's cabin. The dropship began to yaw in the air, turning back towards Madrid.

"One thing to keep in mind, Dr. O'Deorain," Gabe added, turning around to address her. "If either one of your treatments fails, or causes harm... well. Whatever retribution you can imagine, I guarantee I will deliver something much, much worse. Even if I happen to be dead."

His eyes glinted as he delivered the threat. Moira had no doubt that this man could deliver on it. But no gain came without risk, and she had no doubt this deal was the best offer she could have hoped for. She just had to deliver, and she always did.

"I understand," Moira replied.

* * *

Two weeks later, Moira was in Switzerland, standing in an empty laboratory in the Overwatch headquarters. Every surface glinted, clean, new, pristine. Ready for all the state-of-the-art equipment which she'd ordered, and was on its way. She yearned for it to come like she had yearned for Christmas day as a child; finally, she would have all the tools which she needed to do her work. The anticipation felt like an electric current in her body, and she eagerly awaited the day when she could finally transform all that potential into work.

Turning to leave the room, her new ID badge flashed under the lights. It read 'Maureen O'Shaughnessy, Overwatch R&D.' Moira enjoyed the irony: working in the same building as some of the people who'd held her back. Now, freed from them, she would accomplish what they had thought unimaginable, right under their noses. She turned out the lights, and went to go plan her laboratory set-up schedule and initial experiments. She already had two tight deadlines to meet.


	17. Furlough

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gabe takes a risk. Moira is working. McCree convinces Genji to go reacquaint himself with "fun."

Jack was sound asleep on the sofa in his quarters. Gabe had spent the evening with him, and Jack had fallen asleep on Gabe's shoulder while they watched TV, as he often did. It had been simple for Gabe to put his arm around him as usual, and subtly place the patch on his arm, sending him into a deeper slumber.

Walking over to his jacket, Gabe retrieved the sample kit in his inner pocket. It had everything he needed: the needle, the vials, and various bits and pieces. Taking out a stretchy band, Gabe rolled up Jack's sleeve, and tied the band around his thick bicep, making a blue vein in the crook of his elbow pop out. After clicking a vial in behind the needle, Gabe swiped down the area over the vein, and then calmly and smoothly slipped the needle's point into the vein. With one hand, he deftly removed the band around Jack's arm, and blood quickly began to fill the vial.

It was the color of all human blood: crimson, that unique tone which was both beautiful and unsettling; the color of something which most people hoped not to see. It all looked the same, but Gabe reflected on all the information that was contained within - your heritage, your diseases, your health. How you might die, and, in the case of him and Jack, how one might live. All of this was contained within that swirling red liquid which now filled the small glass vial. Gabe swapped it out for the second one. Moira had said she would need four.

Once he had them, Gabe placed the last vial back in his kit, and took the needle out of Jack's arm, swifly applying a cotton ball to the spot he had pierced. He held it firm until the bleeding stopped. Finally, he took a tiny section of dermal bond - he'd cut it out from a bigger one, the stuff was expensive - and put it over the red spot. After a few minutes, he checked the arm again, and was pleased to see that even the needle's tiny mark had disappeared from Jack's skin.

Returning everything to the kit, Gabe slipped it into his jacket, and put his shoes on to take the samples to Moira's lab. Glancing back at the sofa, Gabe's eyes rested on Jack for a moment, watching his chest slowly rising and falling. He knew Jack would never forgive him if he found out this had happened, would never trust him again. Nevertheless, Gabe would have done it again in an instant.

The degeneration that was killing him would eventually come for Jack, and Gabe doubted that Jack would want to put his life in the hands of a renegade scientist who talked more to her lab equipment than she did to other humans. Jack could be moralizing to a fault, and stubborn as an ass; it was part of why Gabe loved him. But ever since they'd met, all those years ago, Gabe had never stopped fighting to protect him, from threats he both did and didn't know about. He wasn't going to stop that now, no matter the cost. And so, when Moira had said she would need four vials of blood from her unknown second patient, Gabe went to go get them.

Still looking at Jack, he nodded to himself, and turned to the door. After listening for passers-by, he stepped out of Jack's quarters, and headed to Moira's lab.

* * *

Moira had her feet up on her desk, listening to the sounds of her laboratory working happily around her. Things were at a stage where she could relax for a few hours, while the machines did their work. They were busy synthesizing the viral vector that would block Gabe's degeneration from proceeding any further, and attempt to restore his DNA to its original state. The timing was going to be close; once the damage went past a certain threshold, it spiralled out of control as the body's natural systems for repair became nonfunctional. If Gabe had come to her even a week later, Moira doubted even her treatment could have been effective.

Gabe had just brought her samples from the other patient, which she had quickly begun analyzing. Whoever they were, initial results showed their DNA had no signs of any unnatural degradation, though the Bluechip vector was present in their system. Their treatment could easily wait until after Gabe's was finished, and they would suffer far fewer side effects when it was delivered. Moira briefly wondered who this second patient was, but quickly realized that she didn't care. There were more interesting things to think about, ideas which she never could have tested without the resources and freedom that she had gained so recently.

Ideas floated through her head, concepts which she'd dreamed about - transforming the basis of cellular life, merging it with nanomachinery to transform it into something... active. Programmable. Dynamic. You could tell a cell to do anything you wanted, to make any protein, to split itself, or even have it do computation. The technology for a system was, like so many things, within their reach, but forbidden by law, as many things had become after the Omnic Crisis. But now, under Gabe's protection, she didn't have to fear investigators showing up unbidden - the dream was within her grasp. Slowly, she began to imagine the work she would need to do to test her theories. Often, reality laughed in the face of a brilliant idea, ruthlessly disassembling it into an assembly of naive assumptions. The truth was never easy to discover; that was what kept Moira coming back. The journey never stopped, the path was never obvious. Nothing had held her attention until she had realized that. And quickly thereafter, revealing that path had become her life.

* * *

Where Genji's body was flesh, it sweated. In his chest, his heart beat strong and steady as he held a plank. His core was still muscle and bone; his mechanical side could put out more power, but the rest of him had to be able to handle it. So, he was hitting the gym hard while he and McCree were on the strange two-week furlough that Reyes had suddenly granted them after returning from the mission to Spain, where they'd picked up the red-haired woman.

Somebody entered the gym behind Genji - he ignored them, until a towel landed on his back. Genji sighed inwardly, and continued to hold his plank.

"Bullseye," McCree drawled behind him. "Figured I'd find you out here. Why do you always come all the way to the secret, scary Blackwatch base when there's a perfectly good gym at HQ?"

"An intelligent man might deduce that it is to be left alone," Genji expained as he let a breath out.

"Naw. I think you're just angry they made you wear a shirt in the main gym."

Genji exhaled, and released the plank, coming down onto his knees. "I wipe the equipment off when I'm finished. I still do not understand the issue."

"I don't either, pumpkin. Let's go into town - I'm sure the fine folks there will appreciate you even if you ain't wearin' a shirt. Especially if you ain't wearin' a shirt, I'd reckon."

Rolling back onto his feet, Genji stood up.

"You go. I will stay, and train," he stated dutifully.

"Come on Genji, haven't you heard of a rest day? Reyes gave us two weeks furlough, and I reckon that sorta break don't come around often. God knows what goes through that man's head, but I'll be damned if I let you go through this entire break without havin' some fun. So come into town with me - be my wingman, you'll enjoy it!"

Genji narrowed his eyes, and glared at McCree.

"Or - don't be my wingman! Just come into town with me, and then we can go our separate ways."

Genji sighed, and started drying the sweat off his face with the towel that had been thrown on him. Logically, he knew McCree was right - he was at risk of overtraining himself. But out in the world, his enemies still roamed free. Crippled, yes, scared, maybe. And yet, Reyes had no missions for them. Was silent, unavailable. It made Genji uncomfortable. Training kept his mind off of it; he could put his emotions into the weights, into his movement, and work until all he could do was eat and then sleep. He still wanted to be stronger. Sometimes, though, strength came only through patience.

"Fine," Genji acquiesced, throwing the towel over his shoulder. "Let us go."

"Phew," McCree breathed out, wiping a drop of imaginary sweat from his brow. "It looked like you were decidin' whether it'd be easier to go with me, or kill me. Glad you picked the former."

"We shall see. The day is still young, McCree."

"Ha, ha, Genji. Good joke...that was a joke, right?"

Genji gave no reasponse as they left.

* * *

The shuttle was about to leave the base. Genji was sat in a window seat, wearing sweatpants and a hoodie. The fibers of the synthetic fabrics kept catching on various edges of his prosthetics, and grated against the sensitive patches of skin where the artificial limbs met his body. Turning his gaze out the shuttle's window, he observed the scene outside to distract himself as he waited.

There was still snow on the ground, though it was slowly melting in the cold rain that was drizzling out of the sky. It was the dreary sort of weather which was common as winter started hinting that it would soon give way to spring. The days were becoming noticeably longer, as well; through the thin clouds, hints of color from the setting sun were shining through, lighting the sky with traces of orange and yellow. Genji wondered if the snow was still thick on the ground in Hanamura. In the deepest part of winter, he and Hanzo would jump off of the temple roof into the snowdrifts below. Once, though, the snow hadn't been thick enough, and Hanzo had hurt his arm falling. Their Father had put a strict end to that practice afterward.

Somebody plopped down in the seat next to Genji, just as the bus clicked into life and began its automated journey to town.

"Phew," McCree exhaled, fanning himself with his cowboy hat. "Almost didn't make it."

"What a shame that would have been," Genji snarked.

"Hey, now! You wouldn't want to ramble into a strange town without a guide, would you?" McCree objected, putting his hat back on his head. To match it, he was also wearing cowboy boots and an unfortunate denim jacket he had somehow acquired.

"At least between us, I will not be the spectacle," Genji remarked, before looking back out the window at the scenery passing by.

"Damn, Genji, are you neggin' me? I'll have you know my self-esteem is too high for that to work!"

Genji couldn't help but let out a short laugh. McCree continued to ramble at him, as the bus made its way down the road to the next valley over. A short time later, the trees gave way to reveal the lights of a medium-sized town nestled between the mountains.


	18. Curry Ramen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Genji finds the scene at a bar too much for him to handle. Heading out, he has an interesting meal at a restaurant instead.

The air in the bar felt hot and stale, like a drunken breath - the collective result of so many people gathered in a single place, with its heat still on full blast for winter. Sitting alone on a stool, Genji pulled at the front of his hoodie, trying to cool off a little. After Genji had given his blessing, McCree had moved to a table, where he was talking to a man he'd been exchanging significant glances with.

In the past, Genji would have been happy to follow suit, and scan the room for someone of his own to exchange suggestive expressions with. But something was off - when the people here looked at him, he couldn't read the intent in their eyes. Was it interest, curiosity, or suspicion? Were they looking at him, or his artificial hand holding a glass? The swirl of possibilities and consequences was bigger than it used to be. A group near to him started laughing loudly, their voices rising against the discordant clash of other voices, the chink of ice in glasses, the buzzing vibration of electricity, the dull pulse of music. It was too much for Genji's augmented senses: too many signals, too many people, too many thoughts rushing around inside of his head until they became an inseparable tangle.

But one thought broke through: this wasn't the right place for him. After draining his glass, Genji gave a wave to McCree, and stepped out of the bar, back into the night. As the door closed behind him, it blocked out the noise, and the cool air hit him. Immediately, Genji noticed his body beginning to relax, and felt the pressure behind his temples lessen.

Outside, the drizzle had stopped, but the night sky was still full of clouds. A dampness hung in the air, and Genji's breath rose and twisted in front of him. Down the street, softly glowing signs indicated restaurants, and Genji headed towards them.

Passing by various eateries, the sign for one in particular appealed to him: _Shiki Ramen, Authentic Japanese Noodles & Cuisine_. Raising an eyebrow, Genji decided to put its claim to the test. Following the sign's arrow, he descended a narrow set of steps into a small alley, and finding the restaurant's entrance, went inside.

"Irasshaimase!"

A strange voice welcomed Genji - not strange in that it was speaking Japanese, but in its synthetic edge. The reason became clear as a humanoid Omnic emerged from the kitchen, coming over to greet him. It was a bulky, industrial model, with a carbon-black body accented by scratched high-visibility orange paint marking its sharp edges and joints. Over its chest, it wore a pink floral apron. Above that, its large, asymmetric head was covered in a disconcerting number of lenses and sensors.

"Oh," Genji stammered. "...do you speak Japanese?" he asked, switching to the language for the first time in weeks, attempting to recover from his initial surprise.

"Of course," the Omnic responded. "Originally, I was constructed for the pan-Asian market at the Mongolian Omnium. Are you just one, sir?"

"Yes, I'm alone," Genji replied.

"Right this way." The Omnic led Genji to a corner booth in the otherwise-empty restaurant, and gave him a menu. Quickly, Genji looked it over, before an unexpected old favorite caught his eye: curry ramen. The Omnic returned quickly, bearing a glass of water and a tumbler of tea.

"Have you decided?" it asked, placing the drinks on the table.

"There's really curry ramen here?" Genji asked in disbelief.

"Yes, there is. It's one of my specialties."

"Well then, curry ramen - spicy, please!"

"Certainly."

The Omnic bowed, and took the menu away, returning to its kitchen. Shortly thereafter, Genji heard the sounds of cooking begin: boiling water, clinking dishes, the chop of a knife against a cutting board. He took a sip of the tea, expecting to either be burning hot or lukewarm, and was pleasantly surprised to find it was in the proper zone between the two. Taking the tumbler in his hands, he leaned back in his seat to more deeply inspect his surroundings.

The restaurant's interior was warmly lit, its booths' frames constructed from bamboo and lined with worn but comfortable cushions. Beautifully woven _hanakago_ baskets holding small but tasteful flower arrangements were placed in alcoves lining the opposite wall. All the tables were clean and tidy, their placemats and settings arranged precisely. As he sipped his tea, Genji wondered why such a pleasant place was empty.

Soon, the sounds of cooking stopped, and the Omnic emerged from the kitchen carrying a large, steaming bowl. It walked carefully, holding the bowl exactly level and steady as its feet moved across the floor.

"Here you are," it said, placing the bowl on Genji's table. "One curry ramen."

Bowing, it left again, returning to the back.

"Well, let's eat," Genji replied ritually, as he picked up a pair of chopsticks and broke them apart. They split cleanly; he hoped that meant it would be a good meal.

Digging in, he was not disappointed. The noodles were perfectly tender; soft, yet slightly chewy. The spices were balanced in the broth, almost, but not quite, bringing a tear to his eye as he ate. The egg and pork were hot, not cold as careless and fast places tended to leave them. Before he knew it, the bowl was empty, and he was full.

Leaning back, Genji closed his eyes, and wiped a drop of sweat from his forehead. The broth's spice still lingered pleasantly on his palate. Reflecting, Genji judged that he hadn't had a bowl of ramen that good since he'd been at home.

A long time ago, it had been a treat for him and Hanzo, before Hanzo had become too busy with his other duties. They'd challenge one another to get the spiciest thing on the menu, knowing that they'd have to eat the whole thing even if they couldn't feel their mouths by the end. They'd both overdone it a couple times, but it had still been fun. Genji wondered when, exactly, they'd stopped doing that. Had stopped any sort of thing like that, together. Had their father begun separating them on purpose?

"Finished, sir?" the Omnic asked, reappearing from the back.

"Ah, yes," Genji affirmed, snapping out of his reverie. "It was delicious. That was the best ramen I've had in a long time. Is the recipe original?"

"Thank you very much - yes, the recipe is my own. I collected 72 recipes and 14 samples of curry ramen before developing this recipe. It uses some of the most central features I detected in commonality between the data, but also contains my own inputs to make it unique. I'm pleased that you enjoyed it. Would you like anything else, or can I get you the check?"

Genji hesitated. He was full, but there was something about this strange Omnic, analyzing recipes and buying ramen it couldn't eat - just to analyze it - that made him curious.

"Actually, I was wondering... forgive me if this is impolite, but is cooking a challenge for you? Do you have a sense of smell?"

The Omnic actually laughed - a strange, chiming sound that was nevertheless unambiguously mirthful.

"Before I gained my autonomy, I was responsible for maintaining 17 production processes at a Chinese biochemical plant. The sensors you see on my head can detect impurities in the parts per million, while collecting hundreds of samples per second. While I may lack a traditional sense of smell, or hunger, most human chefs have much less capability than me. Perhaps more importantly, I enjoy following recipes, buying and inspecting ingredients, and watching their components transform into exciting new compounds. Most of all, I enjoy watching others appreciate the end product. When they are willing to try the food of an Omnic, that is."

"...is business usually this slow?"

The Omnic waved a hand. "I'm more popular with the lunch crowd. Besides, it's late on Tuesday night. I make a decent living for an autonomous Omnic, although I'm not aware of any others who live by running a restaurant. Early on, I even had legal challenges. But I've finally earned a somewhat reliable reputation here, at least."

"I'm glad to hear that. I'll have to come back soon."

"Please do," the Omnic said, taking a payment tablet out of its front apron pocket and offering it to Genji. Fumbling for his credit chip in his hoodie pocket, Genji found it, and used it to pay the bill, adding a generous tip.

"Thank you. Feel free to stay as long as you wish. Speaking Japanese again is a pleasure."

Genji glanced at a clock on the wall. He was tired, and the next bus would be coming soon. "Thanks, but I should go. Good night."

"Good night."

The Omnic bowed politely as its strange customer left the restaurant. It cleared his empty bowl, cleaned the table, and went to go begin the complex process of cooking the next day's tonkotsu broth. Recalling the man's hugely modified, semi-artificial body hiding under his casual clothes, it considered the possibility he had lost his limbs while fighting unawoken Omnics somewhere in the world. It seemed unlikely, given his positive disposition. It hoped he'd come back again; few people ordered the curry ramen.

* * *

Once again, Genji sat alone on the bus, waiting for it to depart. Overhead, the clouds were finally clearing, and as they blew through the sky, the moon shone through the occasional gaps in the cover, lighting patches of snow up in silver, and revealing the black outlines of bare trees.

Just as before, the bus lurched as McCree jumped aboard, just as it raised itself on its hover-pads to leave. He sat down next to Genji, smelling like booze and sweat, his cheeks very pink.

"Did you make a friend?" Genji asked him.

"Hoo boy, I made a good friend," McCree sighed contentedly. "How was your evenin'?"

"Pleasant. I had a good meal."

"Oh yeah? What'd'ya get?"

"Curry ramen."

"Damn, you went to that Robo Ramen place? I hear it's actually good! Run by some weird pre-Crisis omnic that passed its autonomy board just by cookin'!"

Genji recalled the Omnic, with its scratched chassis, apron, and head full of sensors it used to smell.

"It wasn't weird, it was... cute," he disagreed. "What's an autonomy board?"

"Oh, it's the way Europeans do things. An Omnic that wants its sentience rights schedules a hearin' to show it's autonomous. Passes a Turing test, demonstrates a creative process, that sorta thing. But apparently it can take years for a machine to get an appointment. Some bots just leave for friendlier pastures than go through it. Looks like your cute chef stuck it through the process, though. I'll hafta go try its cookin' with you sometime."

"Yes," Genji agreed. "It was very good."

The bus wound its way back up the pass to the Overwatch HQ. Mercifully, McCree leaned back in his seat, closed his eyes, and was silent most of the way. Arriving back, they headed their separate ways to their rooms, and Genji laid down in his bed. Closing his eyes, he thought about ramen. He wondered if he could ever cook a bowl like the Omnic had, if he could go out and make a living doing it. Somehow, he didn't think so. Rolling over, he closed his eyes, and tried to go to sleep.


	19. Sick Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Moira delivers on her bargain with Gabe. He puts himself through her treatment, and moves forward with his plans.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my fanfic is a lie half of this is now about gabe turning into reaper and not genji at all

"Are you ready?" Moira asked Gabe, as he sat on a bench in a clean, bare corner of her laboratory. His bare chest covered in sensors, he stared at the syringe in Moira's hand, filled with a clear fluid - the supposed cure for his accelerating genetic disintegration, a fatal side effect rising up decades after the enhancement program.

For a second, Gabe hesitated. A raw current of fear and doubt coursed through him. What if Ziegler had gotten his diagnosis wrong, and Moira was feeding off his fear? Could she have somehow faked the references she'd given him to convince her treatment was real? What if this single, lone woman, working madly in her own world, had made a mistake? There would be no second chances for him.

But logically, Gabe had accepted that whatever was in that vial was his only second chance. Something inside him was wrong, and each day, he felt it growing. Over the past few weeks, the inside of his mouth had started becoming sore and dry. Each morning, he had to force himself to get out of bed, still feeling fatigued from the night before. Slowly, he was beginning to lose weight. He knew stress, and he knew how to handle it. This was something different. Steeling himself, overriding his feelings, he turned his gaze upward, and nodded at Moira.

"Let's get this done."

Moira stepped forward, sank the needle into his shoulder. Gabe felt the cold fluid enter his body, and begin to spread through his arm before dissipating into his body.

"Now, we wait," Moira stated, as she dropped the needle into a disposal container, and moved to her computer console to monitor whatever data was coming from the sensors covering him.

The seconds on the wall clock ticked by. One minute passed, then two. Gabe felt nothing, except a rising sense of suspicion and doubt. Then, he noticed a series of goosebumps rising all across his skin. Suddenly, the room felt very cold, and he wanted his shirt back very badly.

"The acute response is beginning," Moira confirmed, as Gabe began to shiver. The fever would come first, she had informed him, and would likely last 6-8 hours. Gabe grit his teeth, and prepared to wait it out.

* * *

An hour had passed. Now lying down on the bench, Gabe's entire body ached and burned. A few minutes prior, he'd thrown up the water which he'd tried to drink, and Moira had switched him over to an IV feed. She said his temperature was still climbing. He didn't want to know what it was; all he knew was that it was getting very, very high.

He wanted somebody there. He wanted Jack, sitting next to him, holding his hand and distracting him with boring stories of stuff he did back in Iowa as a kid. Why hadn't he told him? Gabe thought that he'd had some good reason not to, but it couldn't come to him at the moment; his thoughts kept flying away, as though they were becoming vapor in his mind. He felt like he had been scared of something - what it was, he wasn't sure. Whatever it had been, it had left him to deal with this ordeal on his own, shivering and feverish, alone in a room with a mad scientist.

* * *

Gabe stared into the darkness behind his eyelids. All was hot, dark, and heavy. Far away, he felt his chest move up and down slowly, his exhalations catching in his throat, and burning like fire.

Slowly, the thought occurred to him that he was about to die, was dying at that moment - alone, in that dark, heavy space. Dread filled his chest - he'd failed, after all. Where was he, then? What path was this, that he was traveling along? In his heart, he knew that whatever was waiting at its end would find him wanting. He'd fought, in his own way, for what he believed to be best. He'd done the hard work, the necessary work, to forge a future for humanity. But... there had been so many lies. So many people, dead, so much knowledge, erased. Those he had helped did not know him, and could not know him for his work to succeed. But those who had gone up against him, and lost - they did know him, and would be waiting. With their sharp bones and rusting metal chassis, they would hold him, and slowly rend the flesh from his body - layer by layer, and cell by cell. They would strip it away until all that was left of him was pain and anger, pinned to a stone heart. Then, they would transform him, and make him one of their own. This would be their final revenge. The vision burned in Gabe's mind, until the fever took him again.

* * *

Slowly blinking his eyes, reality swam back into Gabe's vision. Sitting up slowly, he coughed, and shook his head. His body ached, but was no longer febrile. In fact, despite his fatigue, he felt as though some fog inside his head had lifted.

"Welcome back," a voice greeted him. Looking for its source, he found a woman with a sharp face and red hair. Moira.

"Did - it work?" Gabe croaked.

"Your responses were nominal. At this point, evidence points to yes. I'll have to re-evalute you in a few days as your condition settles," Moira explained, with a hint of satisfaction.

Gabe scowled as he pulled the IV out of his arm. He'd been hoping for a simple 'yes.'

"So we're done for now?"

"Correct. I would recommend you go eat and rest. Your body had just been through quite an ordeal."

"Tell me about it," Gabe grumbled, pulling sensors off himself before putting his shirt back on. A recollection of the fever dream he'd had ran through the back of his mind, replaying vague scenes of heat, pain, and the sensation of being trapped, mutilated. He shook his head, trying to dislodge them.

* * *

A few days passed, as did a series of fevers and nightmares. But, gradually, they ceased - and Gabe felt a change. His mouth was no longer sore, his body no longer fatigued, and his weight came back to normal. When he moved, he felt strong, capable; a feeling he hadn't even realized that he'd been gradually losing. After a week, Moira confirmed to him that his treatment had been successful. Then, she had handed him another vial: the second treatment - Jack's. His enhancements hadn't started to eat away at his body yet, but if he wasn't treated, that day would come. Gabe would stop that from ever happening.

That night, after some drinks in Jack's quarters, they lay together in bed. Gabe listened carefully to Jack's breaths. They were deep and slow, the breathing of a man fast asleep. Quietly reaching to where he had hidden it, Gabe pulled the hypo-spray out; he wouldn't leave any marks this time. Gently pressing its applicator against Jack's shoulder, Gabe gave a silent prayer, and hit the trigger. The spray hissed quietly for a second, as it emptied its vial, sending the contents directly through Jack's skin, into his body. Then, it was done. Jack hadn't moved at all - he'd always been good at sleeping through all sorts of noise, Gabe recalled, smiling.

He hid the empty spray back in his jacket, to dispose of later. Then, returning to bed, he put his arms around Jack. And sure as clockwork, a few minutes later, he felt goosebumps on Jack's skin, which quickly grew hot. Holding onto Jack as he slept through it, Gabe was relieved when his fever broke after only an hour. Moira had said it would be easier for Jack, and she had been right. Relief swept through Gabe, releasing tension which had been winding in his chest ever since he'd been diagnosed by Dr. Ziegler, and he'd realized the consequences for them both. Closing his eyes, he went to sleep.

* * *

Gabe took a sip of his coffee as he read through his intel reports. Things were back on track, and it was time to pick up where he'd left off: cleaning up the Shimada clan. Things had devolved into outright civil war between two remaining factions of the clan, each claiming that the other was responsible for the destruction of the shipping fleet. The heir apparent, Genji's brother Hanzo, was still missing. It was time to finish what he'd started all those months ago, when he'd arranged for Sojiro's tragic accident. The foundation of a plan to do so began to build itself in Gabe's mind.

A message popped up in the corner of his eye, from Angela Ziegler. An invitation for an appointment: "Planning contingencies," the subject read. Smiling, Gabe deleted it, and continued with his work.


	20. Safehouse Reflections

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Genji takes in some air. Reyes falls asleep in a chair, because Jack isn't there to remind him to get into an actual bed. McCree considers his position in Blackwatch. A lead is discovered.

Under the cover of night, Genji stepped out into the compact, private yard behind the safehouse. The trees which lined its high-walled perimeter were beginning to bud, slender leaves emerging from their branches. Through the haze of city lights above, the winter constellations were beginning to turn away in the sky, the summer stars slowly taking their place. Closing his eyes, Genji inhaled, taking in the subtle scent of melting snows and thawing soil. This one of his favorite times of the year; it held the promise of renewal, of new things to come.

Change had come to him, the past year. Harsh change. Finally, he had escaped the path he'd been set on since his birth: becoming a second to Hanzo's first, a pawn and enforcer within their family's parasitic criminal organization. But the price he paid had been a hair short of his life. The men who took him after Hanzo shot him off the gate wanted to leave him broken, ineffectual. They'd taken his legs below the thigh, his right arm from the shoulder down, and his natural voice.

Genji clenched his fists, the new and the old, the synthetic and organic. They had been fools to leave him alive. Now, somewhere in the city around him, the last of them were hiding. Reyes was sniffing them out, through their money, their vices, their families and friends. And when he found them, he would send Genji to deal with them. Then, they would finally realize their mistake.

Change was coming again, but this time, Genji would be the one guiding its currents. He would channel those forces into a tsunami, and wash away everything which had trapped him into the life he'd led, which trapped others in cycles of violence, debt, and theft. Standing on the soil of his home country, smelling its air, seeing its lights, had reminded him of his pains, his past, and his goal. Now, finishing it all was the only thing which mattered.

* * *

Reyes had his eyes closed as he leaned back in a chair, waiting for the drones and online tracers to sniff out the hints he needed, when a knock came on his door.

"Come in," he grumbled, opening his eyes as Jesse McCree stepped into the room.

"Hey, boss," McCree greeted him quietly.

"What do you need, Jesse?"

"I, uh, well - it's Genji. I thought I was gettin' to know him at HQ, but ever since we came here, he's scarce spoken a word. Every time I glance his way, I see a fire burnin' in his eyes, and it don't look none too pretty to me. Looks like the type'a fire that'll burn anyone gets near it. You told me to keep an eye on him, so I thought I'd speak my piece."

Gabe nodded.

"Suffice to say, this is an intensely personal mission for Genji. But, despite what he thinks, there are bigger things at stake here than his personal grudges. We're not here just to finish off the Shimada syndicate; we need to find out what they know. They sold something very, very dangerous a few years ago, and failing to track it down is not an option. If he goes too far - which he has in the past - we will need to step in and stop him. The intel we can gather here is too valuable to go to waste. Understood?"

McCree nodded. "Wakareemash'ta, chief," he drawled.

Gabe pinched the bridge of his nose and exhaled.

"And please, never try speaking Japanese in front of me again. Or Genji."

"That bad?"

"Yes."

"Ah, well. Till mornin' then."

* * *

Returning to his room, Jesse pulled back the curtains of his window a sliver, glancing into the narrow street outside. It was lined on one side by miniature cars - well, they seemed miniature to him. To everyone else here, he supposed they were regular cars. Everything in Japan looked slightly different than usual, in a way he couldn't describe when he looked at it straight on. It intrigued him; he wanted to go out and explore that other-worldly feeling, but they weren't allowed to leave the safehouse except for missions. He was beginning to feel like he'd traded one type of jail for another. At least the food in this one was better, he reflected. Reyes was a surprisingly good cook.

Jesse still had no idea how he'd ended up where he was. Nobody had ever taught him how to fight, like Genji had been learning since he was a kid. He hadn't been in the military like Reyes, and saved the world from a robotic apocalypse. He had just hustled, learning how to handle himself and a gun as he went along. And yet, Reyes expected him to keep up, and hold Genji in line? Jesse shook his head, running a hand through his messy hair.

Going into the bathroom, he turned on the fan, and pulled a crumpled pack of cigarillos he'd acquired back in Switzerland out of his jacket. Lighting it up, he took a draw, and blew the smoke into the duct overhead. He just had to keep making his way through this mess. Planning ahead had never been his strength; he just hoped it wouldn't get him killed too soon.

* * *

An alert pinging from his workstation woke Gabe. Sitting up his chair, he opened the summary. A camera had ID'd a woman entering a mahjong parlor as the sister of one Seiichi Omura, a leader of what Gabe considered the 'Loyalist' Shimada faction, which aligned itself to the Shimada tradition, and claimed it was receiving directions from the missing Hanzo Shimada. It was opposed to the 'Revolutionary' faction, which claimed that the old hierarchy had failed them, and Hanzo was dead. The Loyalists were more powerful and experienced, and likely had the information which Gabe needed. As a result, he had been focusing his search on their leaders.

After discovering the majong parlor, drones had also found a mysterious area underneath it, invisible to normal radar and detection methods. That had brought the alert from a possibility into the red zone. Looking at these mysterious underground shadows, Gabe discovered they formed an entire complex which centered on the nearby Garden Tower. Standing up, Gabe cracked his knuckles, and went to gather his Blackwatch boys, Angry and Rowdy. It was time to get to work.


	21. Hanamura Garden Tower

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Blackwatch Boys get to work extracting targets from a secure location.

Night was a useful time for Gabriel Reyes. When the sky darkened and its light faded, human life itself began to glow. Through cooking fires, candles, headlights, TVs, phones - all the scattered machinery of modern and ancient life, humans shed light onto bare earth, through streets and avenues, and into the sky above. As Gabe waited on the rooftop of the Hanamura Garden Tower, he carefully watched motes and streams of light flowing through the city below, trying to discern the story that each one told.

The alarm on Gabe's wrist vibrated, and he took his gaze off the inverse aurora of the night-time city. As he broke this meditative state, the sounds of the wind howling through the skyscraper's broadcast spire above and the cooling towers humming nearby returned. Bringing a hand up to his earpiece, he began his check-in.

"Cowboy, Sparrow - report."

"Jus' made it to level B5, boss," McCree crackled in over the scrambled band. "Intel seems good. Cameras were all where our new friend said they'd be. Passes are working. Things good on your end?"

"Affirmative. This marks the end of set-up. If there are any objections to proceeding, now's the time to hear them."

Gabe waited a moment, but no objections were raised.

"Alright, we'll proceed. Prepare to catch your ride, and ping me when you're en-route. Otherwise, maintain radio silence. I expect surveillance to be tighter near the 91st floor."

"Gotcha," McCree responded.

"I understand," Genji affirmed.

"'Till then. Signing off," Gabe concluded, and his radio crackled off again, leaving just the wind howling in his ears.

Standing up from his hiding spot between two huge cooling units, Gabe double-checked his equipment. The canister was secure on his chest, his gas mask was snug on his face, and he had more than enough cable for the descent. Clicking a carabiner onto support structures for the cooling towers, Gabe approached the edge of the skyscraper's roof, trailing a cable. Looking down over the edge, he inspected his route - it was 10 stories down the side of the building, to a level which was supposed to be a mechanical space. But through their recon, they'd discovered instead of pumps and electrical equipment, it actually held a small, extremely secure Shimada base housing the officers Gabe was looking for. By applying some appropriate pressure on a building manager, Gabe had learned more details. The 91st floor was hugely reinforced, with walls thick enough you'd need an attack helicopter to get through them. On top of that, the only way in and out of it was through a single elevator, which was completely controlled from the 91st floor. The security was impressive; it had forced Gabe to get creative.

Tapping his wrist, Gabe activated the active camouflage he was wearing over his equipment. It clicked on with a whine, leaving him looking like little more than a mirage hovering above pavement on a hot day. Swinging his legs over the railing, Gabe let some more of the cable out, and leaned back into the thin air until the smooth, glassy side of the building became the ground under his feet. Walking carefully backwards, he began traveling down.

* * *

Level B5 was one of the decidedly less illustrious levels of the Garden Tower, Genji observed. Its walls were bare concrete, covered in exposed piping and conduits. Lighting was harsh and minimal, reflecting off a series of shiny elevator doors in front of him and McCree. McCree held up their forged maintenance pass to the elevator's control screen, and it flashed green. In front of them, the elevator doors all opened simultaneously, revealing the building's central elevator shaft. Sets of gleaming metal tracks ran down and up into inky abysses, lit only by light leaking through door gaps. Shadows moved ominously in this space, invisibly transporting the building's usual tenants up and down.

Modern buildings were more complex than Genji had realized. No longer did elevator shafts hold a single carriage; that was too inefficient for the megatowers that had begun springing up all over the world. Instead, elevators ran up, down, left, and right, moving traffic through the building in an intricate pattern. However, only one elevator was aware that the 91st floor existed. That was why they had to hitchhike.

"So we're sure this is one above where it'll be?" McCree asked. "No second chances here, amigo."

"Yes, B6-East is their entry point. The blueprints and the manager agree."

"Alright. Let's hope this lady shows up for her poker game."

"Mahjong," Genji corrected.

McCree shrugged. "Same thing. A game you play to have some fun and lose some money."

Genji sighed, but didn't say anything else. Sometimes, trying to teach McCree wasn't worth the effort.

For the next ten minutes, they waited in a tense silence, watching carefully as the occasional elevator moved down into the lower levels for the night, waiting for the upwards rush the next morning. Then, barely audibly, Genji heard conversation leaking up from the level below. He caught a 'good evening,' and 'right away.' Soon afterwards, an elevator hummed downward, but slowed and stopped right at the level below. Genji nodded at McCree, and quickly, quietly, they stepped out into the darkness, onto the elevator's roof, carefully avoiding its collision sensors glowing red in the murky light. Hunkering down, they gripped onto what they could find, before the elevator quickly began accelerating upwards. McCree tapped his transponder, sending out a ping. They were on their way.

* * *

Constant winds blew along the side of the tower, as if they were trying to blow Gabe loose from his tether, and send him falling to the ground so very far below. Squatting on the side of the building, he tried to minimize his surface area as he waited, rubbing his hands to warm them up. Calmly, he imagined himself as a spider, patiently biding its time as it dangled from a single strand, waiting for the signal to attack. Looking back up the building, he only saw the warm glow of lights from inside, the red blink of the tower's antenna, and the dim glow of the hazy night sky beyond, lit gray-orange by city lights.

Gabe's earpiece beeped once. The go signal. Genji and McCree had caught their ride. After checking his gas mask one last time, Gabe reached inside the outer shell of his active camouflage, and pulled out the canister of compressed gas strapped to his chest. Just below his feet was the intake vent to the 91st floor's independant air supply; that was his point of attack. Moving down the last meter, he placed his feet on either side of the vent, and placed the canister's nozzle into its grating. Pulling out its safety pin, he pulled the trigger, and heard a faint hiss above the background noise. Quickly, the pressure in the canister dropped, as it expelled its potent cargo into the vent. Then, it was empty. Gabe tapped his wrist transceiver, sending a signal to the boys that his part of the phase was done. Putting the canister back inside his armor, Gabe began the journey back up to the roof, and to the parking garage after that.

* * *

Genji heard two beeps in his head, and looked at McCree, who nodded back as he brought his gas mask down over his face. Genji's mask was already in place, as it normally was. Logically, Genji supposed that their hazardous journey upward must have been almost complete, but the smooth rails in the dark elevator shaft seemed to stretch upwards without limit. Just as he was considering this, he felt the elevator under his feet begin to decelerate. Out of the dim light above, he noticed that the track they were on was coming to an end, at what had to be the 91st floor. Just as the top of the elevator drew level with the doors, Genji stuck his foot out over the cab's collision sensor; below them, it screeched to a halt, sending noise reverberating inside the shaft. His heart beginning to beat faster, Genji took out his sword, and nodded at McCree. Carefully, he moved forward, and pulled the doorway to the 91st floor open.

An elegant reception area with rich wood paneling waited beyond. The room was decorated with calligraphic scrolls, a desk, and had a single exit point out to the complex's main area. Three Shimada thugs were slumped in various poses around the room, one sprawled over the desk. Genji sheathed his blade; Reyes's knock-out gas had been a success. The rest was on them.

Genji dashed down the hallway into the complex's main living area, McCree following behind him. They passed more unconscious figures fallen over sofas, tables, and mahjong sets. Floor-to-ceiling windows lined the far wall, showing a panoramic view of Hanamura and the surrounding city beyond. Heading to his target, Genji split off from McCree, down a hallway to the living suites. Finding the third one on his right, he kicked down its door. Beyond, he saw a sumptuous space, filled with the artifacts his family had accrued over the decades of its business. In the corner, a man was lying on the floor by a wet bar, his no doubt very expensive whisky soaking into the lush carpeting. Walking over, Genji turned the man over, confirming that it was his target: Omura. He had been a powerful figure for a long time: in charge of their affairs across the Sea of China, and further to the West and North. Squatting down, Genji pulled Omura up, over, and into a fireman's carry. Omura's next bed would not be as comfortable as the one Genji eyed jealously in the back of the room, its huge expanse covered in shining silken sheets. He wondered how many people could fit into it at once.

Genji shook his head, clearing his thoughts, and began his laborious walk back towards the elevator. More slowly, he passed by the frozen tableaus he had observed on his way in. It was an eerie sight; only through careful observation could one observe that the figures were still breathing. Genji had voiced his opinion that such a gentle approach need not be taken, but Reyes had reminded him of the collateral damage possible in a building like the Garden Tower. It was still a shame to leave all but two unscathed, Genji thought. Across the living room, he saw McCree carrying his own target, Park.

Something flickered in the corner of Genji's eye. He acted reflexively, throwing Omura forward off his shoulders and jumping back, pulling out his short sword just in time to parry a blow from a young man. He was dressed sharply in a suit, an emergency oxygen mask strapped over his face, the sort firefighters might use. Genji smiled at him under his own mask; he had been afraid this was going to be boring.

But the man charged forward gracelessly, and Genji felt immediate disappointment. Stepping aside and easily turning the man's blow, Genji shook his head, and motioned for his opponent to attack again. The man obliged, charging in again. This time, he added a feint, but one which was easily detected. Once more, Genji deflected and shook his head, feeling a cruel pleasure in seeing the anger in the man's face beginning to turn into uncertainty.

"Genji!" McCree shouted from across the room. "We don't have time for this! Get to the elevator before the gas is gone!"

Sighing, Genji stepped in, quickly bringing his short sword down towards the man's head. As the man caught it in a two-handed parry, Genji brought up a leg, and kicked, lightning-fast, into his stomach. The man collapsed, doubled over, and dropped his weapon. Kneeling down, Genji took the now-prone figure's head in his hands.

"Your blood is not worth spilling," he whispered, before he turned the man's head sharply, and felt the satisfying crunch of vertebra shattering.

Genji stood up from body, and retrieved Omura, picking him back up.

"You done?" McCree asked him impatiently, a deep frown lining his face.

"Not even close," Genji replied. They continued down their path back to their exit. But when the looked down the hallway to reception, the elevator's doors were closing. Genji caught a glimpse of a figure inside of it, smiling patiently through another oxygen mask, his hand up in greeting. It was Tanaka - the one who had personally overseen Genji's dismemberment. Genji yelled, charging forward with Omura over his shoulders, but the doors quickly closed, and Tanaka was gone.

"Motherfuck- that's our only exit! If he blocks it downstairs, we're stuck up here!" McCree yelled.

Rage boiling in his chest, Genji once more threw Omura to the ground in the reception area, next to where the woman who must have been in the elevator as they rode it up had fallen. Sprinting to the doors, Genji pried them open, and looked down the shaft; the elevator was disappearing rapidly downward. Considering the decision for a split second, he nodded, then jumped into the shaft.

* * *

Tanaka breathed deeply as the elevator plunged into the building, towards the basement complex, and escape. That attack hadn't merely been the work of the rebellious traitors they were fighting, it had been the work of a third party. The players in the field were different than he had ever imagined, and much more organized. This made up his mind; he needed to accept Talon's terms to stand a fighting chance. But first, he had to get to a safehouse, alert everyone who remained of the attack. The elevator dinged, arriving at level B6, and Tanaka stepped out into the lobby.

He froze. Two bodies were crumpled against the far wall, blood pooling out from underneath. He barely had time to process this before an unseen force tackled him to the ground, knocking the breath out of him and throttling him, keeping him from breathing back in. One of the hands around his neck felt like skin, the other, strangely, like burning metal. Quickly, his vision began to fade; all he could see was a masked face, and two eyes filled with a rage that struck him to his core. The eyes seemed curiously familiar to him, young and burning with a titanic fury. He couldn't tell if it was a trick of the light, but the rage in those eyes seemed to actually glint red. That crimson color was the last thing he saw before his vision faded to black.

* * *

Genji smelled blood and hot metal. Tanaka's eyes lost their focus, and his body slumped. A part of him wanted to keep holding on, to break this man like he'd broken his crony upstairs. But that would be too easy, and Reyes wouldn't give Genji another chance if his rage overwhelmed his reason a second time. Regretfully, Genji let Tanaka slide to the ground, a noticeable burn mark on his throat. Stepping back, Genji began to inspect the damage he'd taken on the way down.

Two of the fingers on his right hand were missing after he'd used it to grab onto the elevator track, slowing down his descent into the building's depths. On its palm and grip, several layers had been worn through, exposing a metallic mesh beneath the 'skin' of the hand. Genji looked at it curiously, tracing the damage with his left fingers. It was still hot, the edges of the abrasions rough. There was no feeling in the hand, only a strange tingling like pins and needles.

It didn't matter; it could be replaced. He had made it. More importantly, both the man responsible for bringing so much pain into Genji's life, and the only means to retrieve McCree and escape the building, lay in front of him.

Picking up Tanaka by the collar of his over-starched shirt, Genji turned his radio back on.

"-jumped into the elevator shaft, and I don't have a goddamn clue if that crazy ninja psycho is even-"

"Yo," Genji interrupted.

"Awww Jesus, Gen- I mean, Sparrow," McCree exclaimed. "You damn near made me shit myself back there. Are you comin' back, or do I gotta get the fuck outta here before these crazy gangsters wake up and wanna piece of me?"

Getting into the elevator, Genji dragged Tanaka onto its floor.

"I am in the elevator. Push the call button by the door to make it return. Boss, I have an extra guest of some interest as well."

"Glad to hear you're fine, Sparrow," Reyes chimed in. "I had a feeling you would be."

"Got it," McCree reported. "I'll be hopin' to see you very soon."

Once more, the elevator's doors closed, and it began to ascend, returning once more to the 91st floor.

* * *

Reyes backed up the getaway van to the loading dock. Stepping through it to the back, he pushed the rear doors outwards to see Genji and McCree carrying their targets, Omura and Park, towards him. Another figure was slumped in the back of the dock, looking worse for the wear - his throat looked injured, and his clothes were dirtied, as though he'd been dragged instead of carried. Gabe squinted his eyes at him, recalling the figure. Tanaka - one of the longest serving members of the clan. Gabe hadn't expected him to be here; this was a scoop. Stepping out of the van, Gabe went over to secure him.

Approaching cautiously, Gabe inspected the man. He appeared to still be out cold. Rolling him over carefully onto his back, Gabe zip-tied his hands and patted him down, removing several weapons from his person. Turning him back over, Gabe inspected Tanaka's face. He looked older than in the last reliable photo Gabe had seen of him, with extra lines creasing his brow and cheeks. Gabe knew he was almost certainly responsible for the formation of many of those lines, yet this man had never seen or known him. Gabe wondered what unknown figures were working against his own plans, and if they would ever look down on him, aged and defeated, as he now looked down on Tanaka. He shook his head. He'd keep that from happening, one way or another.

Picking up Tanaka, Gabe put him in the back of the van with his two cronies, and gave them all an extra sedative patch for the drive to the safehouse. Then, climbing to the front of the van, he climbed into the driver's seat of the van, with McCree in the passenger seat next to him, and Genji skulking behind him. They'd pulled it off, almost without a hitch.

"Good job, team," Gabe congratulated as he started the van up. "This success will be helping us years down the road from now. Well-done all around."

"...is it gonna be like this every time?" McCree asked, quietly, as they drove out of the parking garage and into the city.

"No. It is rare for everything to go this smoothly," Genji commented from the back.

"Jeee-sus," McCree exhaled. "Y'all are crazy, you know that?" he added, closing his eyes and leaning his seat back as lights passed by the van's windows.

"Hey, keep that seat up, Jesse. I won't have you breaking your neck if we get intercepted on the way to the safehouse," Gabe growled.

McCree sighed. "Sure thing, pops. You gonna tell me we also can't stop at Mickey D's on the way back?"

"Yes. But I did buy you ice cream, and hid it in the back of the safehouse freezer behind the vegetables. Don't say this job has no perks."

McCree scoffed. "Risk my life and all I get is some fuckin' ice cream."

"...what flavor is it?" he asked, after a pause.

"Rocky road," Gabe replied.

"...damn, that's my favorite," McCree muttered.

Gabe smiled, and kept on driving.


	22. Confrontation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Genji secures an important piece of intel for Reyes, and confronts a figure from his past.

Fields of light flickered around Genji, clothing him in the ghost of his father. He sat, legs folded, across a low table from the captured Omura, whose eyes were glazed over, staring off into a space Genji hoped he would never see firsthand. Around them, more holograms reconstructed the elder Shimada's study in the castle at Hanamura. Even knowing it was fake, being in the space brought up unpleasant memories for Genji.

Slowly, as he sat, Omura's eyes began to come into focus, reaching somewhere halfway between reality and wherever he had been. The machine dripping drugs into Omura's IV beeped behind him, signalling Genji to begin.

"Seiichi," Genji intoned in his best impression of his late father, "are you able to hear me?"

Omura's eyes focused fully now, locking on the eyes of the holographic Sojiro disguising Genji.

"Of - of course, Master," he replied, bowing. "I'm pleased to see you well. How can this humble servant be of service?"

"Tell me whom you sold the Sage core to," Genji ordered, asking the question Reyes had instructed him to.

"The Sage? Perhaps we should catch up on other affairs so you have the proper context to understand-"

Genji held up his hand to interrupt Omura, his father's image tracing the motion.

"I have no intention of punishing you for initiative you displayed in my absence. I wish only to know what became of the Sage core."

Omura bowed again, bringing his forehead forward to touch the ground.

"We sold the core to Talon. Forgive me for contradicting your wishes, but their offer was too good to pass; the sale amounted to 60 billion yen, the largest single deal the Shimada have ever carried out. In this time of crisis, the money was greatly needed to keep our finances solvent."

"A prudent move. Is it known where they took it?"

"No, master. But it was acquired through one of their shell corporations - Alpha Centauri. Beyond that, the matter was in their hands."

Barely perceptibly, Genji nodded his head in a sign of approval.

"A red flower blooms in a golden field," he enunciated clearly. Quickly, Omura's eyes lost their focus, and he slumped over onto the ground. Around them, the holograms began to fade, the facsimiles of his father's study and body fading back into the ether, leaving behind a bare basement room, empty but for a few figures and lightfield projectors.

"Shit," Reyes swore, stepping out of a dark corner. "Did I understand that right? They sold the Sage to Talon, through Alpha Centauri?"

"Yes, Commander."

"Well, this certainly complictes matters." He sighed. "We need to bring things to a close here, and get on this lead before it goes cold."

Genji stared at Omura, who lay sideways on the ground, his eyes still open.

"How, exactly, do we bring this to a close?" Genji asked.

Reyes didn't reply for a moment.

"I think you know how," he finally replied.

Closing his eyes, Genji breathed in, and out. These men deserved to die; he'd witnessed over his entire life the crimes they'd committed, learned the things they were capable of doing. But to see them die like this, drugged into a fantasy world - it was not the end he'd imagined.

"Take them off the drugs," Genji ordered. "I will fight them."

"Genji, we don't have the time. We need to do this quick and clean, and you shouldn't-"

"I am not asking, Commander. This is my price."

Reyes turned back to face Genji, staring him straight in the eyes and frowning. Genji stared back, unflinching. After a few moments, Reyes finally sighed and shook his head.

"I suppose there's no stopping you, then. They're yours. Just don't get yourself killed."

* * *

Six hours later, Genji sat in the basement across from Tanaka, who was slowly emerging from his torpor. A blade lay on the ground in front of him. Genji had already fought and defeated Omura and Park, both of whom had swiftly picked up the katana and charged him after waking. Now he waited only to give the same fair ending to their last Shimada captive.

Tanaka's breaths deepened, and he stirred, beginning to move. A minute later, he sat up off the mat he was lying on, clutching his forehead. His eyes darted across the room, left to right, before settling on Genji. He made no move for the blade in front of him.

"I see. I understand. This is it, then," he spoke calmly, arranging himself into an upright sitting posture, before returning his gaze to meet Genji's eyes. They sat silently in this tableau for a few seconds, then a minute, then two.

"Will you not stand, and fight?" Genji finally asked.

Tanaka snorted, a harsh and short noise.

"Look at yourself. Young, strong - perhaps too strong. I am an old man, and have not held a blade in years. I will not help you create a fantasy to delude yourself into believing that what you are doing is not cold-blooded murder. Familicide, even. Isn't that right, Genji?"

Genji's eyes widened, and Tanaka laughed out loud.

"So it is true - the masked demon plaguing us is indeed here to account for our sins. Though, if I recall correctly, you have quite a few of your own to answer for. Oh, do you think you've already atoned? Paid through what I took from you: your legs, your arm, your voice? That what you've done is enough to redeem you?"

Tanaka paused, shaking his head, and smiling cruelly.

"That is what you could never learn, Genji: you can never be anything other than a criminal. Never be better than the people around you, whom you feared and despised so much. You were bound by blood the instant you came into this world, and you will be bound until you leave it. Nothing can change that. Not even this.

"So, kill me if you wish. I have failed everything which mattered to me in this world: serving your father, his legacy, and his chosen heir. Nothing more remains for me, but to die by the mistakes I failed to correct."

Genji's damaged hand was twitching. He had expected Tanaka to fight, had wanted him to fight, like the others. Instead, he sat there, smiling, and had calmly stoked the fires in Genji which had always been smoldering, ever since he'd become old enough to understand his place in the world. Genji desperately wanted to kill Tanaka, but at the same time, couldn't let him go with that smirk on his face.

There was a creak on the stairs behind Genji, and he looked to identify its source. It was Reyes, coming down the stairs. Suddenly, Genji heard a faint noise, the almost-silent shuffle of motion. Reflexively, he rolled, and felt a burning slash on his left shoulder. Recovering, he looked around, and saw Tanaka barreling past, towards Reyes on the stairs, brandishing the katana Genji had left for him to fight with.

In a split-second, Reyes calmly took out his sidearm and shot Tanaka square in the chest. For a moment, Tanaka still stood, reaching up to strike. Then, the sword fell from his hands, and he followed, falling backwards to the ground.

Reyes stared disapprovingly at Genji. "I thought you could handle this. Go have McCree clean your wound, and I'll finish here. We leave in 4 hours. No more delays."

Genji stared at Tanaka's body, blood pooling under it. He could barely understand what Reyes was saying.

"Hey! Up here, Genji," Reyes barked, pointing a finger at his eyes. Slowly, Genji brought his gaze up to meet them. "The past is done with you when you're done with it. The Shimada clan is finished. It's time to move on."

"Time to move on," Genji muttered. He had no idea how to do that. He began by going upstairs, finding the first-aid kit, and sitting silently as McCree cleaned his shoulder wound and patched it up. For once, McCree didn't speak, seeming to understand that this was not the time. Four hours later, the basement had been fully cleaned up, their gear was packed, and they drove away from the safehouse towards the incoming dropship's landing zone in the countryside.

The sun was just beginning to sink below the horizon as they reached the city limits, reflecting angry shades of orange and red off the skyline behind. Blinking red and blue dots surrounded the Hanamura Garden Tower, as the police went in to arrest the remaining members of the Shimada hiding there. Genji watched the spectacle as it receded into the distance. Eventually, the sun sank below the horizon, and its reflections disappeared, as though a thousand fires burning in the city's windows had been suddenly extinguished. Turning back forwards, Genji coldly regarded the road ahead. He expected that sight to be the last he ever saw of Hanamura.


	23. The Anniversary Picnic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Overwatch throws a celebration to celebrate the anniversary of its founding. Genji and McCree are in attendance, as well as Moira and Mercy. Once his part in the festivities is done, Jack sits down for a meal with Gabe.

A pleasant, warm breeze drifted over the quad in front of Overwatch HQ as the midday sun shone down from above. A huge crowd was spread out over the broad green lawn, chatting and eating off paper plates loaded with samples of every food imaginable, acquired from tables and trucks lining the edges of the space. Genji hadn't seen the point in going, but he judging from the delicious scents lingering in the air, he was glad that a few minutes ago McCree had jammed his foot in his door and almost literally dragged him out to the Overwatch anniversary picnic.

"Come on," McCree goaded him, "you gotta see the 'Commanders' Kitchen' first. It's unbelievable."

Together, they wove through gaps in the crowd, until before them was a table covered in a red-and-white checkered cloth, a simple menu of 'Burger, Cheeseburger, Hot Dog' on top of it. Genji could hear the sizzle of meat over a charcoal grill behind the table, which was being manned by Commander Jack Morrison. He was flipping burgers with a practiced hand, wearing an apron over a casual Hawaiian shirt and cargo shorts.

"Which'll it be, gents?" Morrison asked, glancing over at the newcomers to his table.

"Double cheeseburger, if ya'd be so kind," McCree requested, tipping the brim of his hat.

"That ain't on the menu, son."

"Well, uh... then... two cheeseburgers, stacked, please?"

"You're a real renegade, desperado. I'll bend the rules this time. And for you?" Morrison asked, looking at Genji.

"One hot dog, please," Genji replied.

"Something on the menu. I like you. One hot dog, coming up."

A woman with tan skin and long, black hair stepped behind the table, carrying a box of supplies. Glancing at McCree's uncertain expression, she made a tsking noise.

"Jesse, has Jack been giving you hard time?" she asked.

"Uh, no, Captain Amari, not at all," McCree denied.

Morisson smiled as he flipped two new burgers onto the grill, and they sizzled. Amari set down her box under the table.

"Ugh, he hassles people with this menu every year. Ignore him. How have you been, Jesse? I haven't seen you hanging around my office lately. Are you practicing like I showed you?"

"Yes, ma'am! It's going slow, but I'm makin' progress. Just got back from a mission in time for the picnic."

"Ah, one of Gabe's top-secret missions. Well, I have some free time Friday afternoon if you want to show me what you've learned."

"Yes ma'am!" Jesse piped up again, enthusiastically.

Amari's eyes turned to regard Genji, and he noted that a subtle tattoo outlined her left eye.

"And you must be the Genji I've heard so much about," she noted.

Genji gave a short, introductory bow.

"How do you do?" he asked.

"Very well, thank you! How polite. You could learn a thing or two from him, Jesse."

"Oh, I'm well aware of that, ma'am."

Amari chuckled. Morrison nodded his head at her, and she got two plates out from under the table, placing two hamburger buns on one and a hot dog bun on the other.

"Just the one hamburger bun," Morrison corrected.

"A double cheeseburger?" Amari gasped, throwing a hand over her forehead in an exaggerated expression of shock. "You're breaking all the rules, Jack!"

"Don't tell anybody about this," Morrison growled at McCree and Amari, stacking the burgers and cheese onto the single bun. "I'll never hear the end of it."

McCree took the double cheeseburger uncomfortably, and Morrison served Genji's hot dog as well. Amari shook her head.

"He must really like you. Now, both of you, don't eat too much. I need to get back to Pharah before she tries to arm-wrestle Reinhardt again. See you Friday, Jesse."

With that, she left the table, and began walking back into the crowd. McCree and Genji thanked Morrison, who nodded, and they took their plates, beginning to eat as they wandered past other stations.

"Who was that?" Genji asked between bites of hot dog. It was perfectly cooked - hot, juicy, and just crispy enough on the outside.

Jesse's eyes widened as he ate his double-cheeseburger. "You're tellin' me you never heard of Fareeha Amari before gettin' here? Woman's a legend!" he gushed, talking with his mouth open. "Turns out, she's real nice, too. Teaches me, once in a while. Made me realize I still got a lot to learn. Things like-"

Genji had frozen in his tracks, and Jesse, eyes on his food, collided into his back, letting out a soft 'oof.'

"What - is that?" Genji asked, staring across a gap in the crowds towards a huge, hairy figure, sitting on the ground with several people around it. "Is that a... gorilla?"

"Yeah. That's Winston. He's from the moon," McCree explained. Genji just stared, not sure if he was joking, and McCree sighed, shaking his head. "Genji, do you ever leave your room here? Besides going to train, or when I make you?"

"...not really."

"You should. There's a lotta interestin' people here. We might end up workin' with some of them. Hell, y'might even like some of them."

Genji regarded the figures in the crowd quietly for a moment. They appeared so jovial, so familiar with one another, that he felt like an intruder, staring in at a family from the outside. And yet, McCree had simply stepped onto the base and ingratiated himself with them in a matter of months. What made the difference between them? There were a million things, large and small, that Genji could think of off the top of his head, but he had no idea what stopped him from stepping into the fray. Was it the lingering discomfort he had with speaking in English? Was it being a part of Blackwatch, lurking in the shadows? Was it his past, still echoing around his head, dragging him down even when his revenge should be finished? He had no idea.

"Maybe," Genji finally responded to McCree's suggestion. "For now, I am going to that taco truck. It smells delicious."

"We can definitely agree on that, amigo."

* * *

At a quiet edge of the picnic, Moira sneezed into a napkin. She needed to go get another; this one was reaching its capacity. She stood from where she had finished her kebab and falafel, straightened the thin tie around her collar, and felt a hand tap her lightly on the shoulder. Turning, she saw a striking woman with tidy blonde hair holding out a pack of pocket tissues.

"I thought you might appreciate one of these," she offered. "I need quite a few myself, this time of year."

"How kind," Moira thanked her, taking one of the tissues and dabbing her nose. "Perhaps we both would benefit from spending some more time outside."

The woman smiled wanly. "I have no doubt of that," she sighed. "If only there was more time in the day."

Moira chuckled. "Another shared problem, I see. I heard a rumor there's an agent here who can travel through time. Might they have some tips for us?"

The woman smiled more broadly. "Time travel? If only. Unfortunately, some things are still just pure fiction. I'm Angela Ziegler, by the way. Pleased to meet you."

"Maureen O'Shaugnessy," Moira introduced herself, giving her cover name. "Pleased to put a face to the name, Dr. Ziegler."

"Oh, no need for that," Angela scoffed, waving her hand. "Angela is fine. May I do the same?"

"Of course," Moira smiled. "Formalities are different everywhere you go. I tend to be cautious."

"A wise approach," Angela agreed. "You should hear the Germans talk - everyone's a Mrs-Doctor-Engineer-Professor so and so. And God help you if you forget a title. Anyway, I'm pleased to meet the R&D department's mysterious new hire."

"Oh? Am I mysterious?" Moira asked, a hint of amusement in her voice. "I was merely aiming to be hard-to-find."

Angela chuckled. "Well, it seems you're both. May I ask what field you're researching? I must admit, earlier I had a strange feeling I recognized you from somewhere."

"Applied physics," Moira lied. "Micropolywells, to be specific. They're a fairly common power unit, but ours are still improvable."

It wouldn't do to have Angela Ziegler know there was advanced but not-entirely-legal genetics research going on under the same roof she worked in. To cover all the bases, Gabe and Moira had thoroughly worked over a realistic cover story for the unfortunate occasions when Moira found a conversation unavoidable.

"Ours? Who do you mean by that?" Angela asked, quizzically.

"The best ones in the world are actually salvage, from the last generation of Omnics to come out of the factories. We don't quite understand how they work so well. In this field and others, we're still playing catch-up."

"Really? Sometimes I still wonder -" Angela hesitated, looking around herself for a moment to make sure nobody nearby was listening in, and lowered her voice. "- I wonder how exactly we won. When you compare what the Omniums could make, and do, and what we had at the end of the crisis... there's our official story, yes, the communications hub we destroyed that was the key to their network. I don't doubt what Overwatch did was crucial, and noble, but to me... something still just doesn't add up."

"Well, you're right," Moira agreed, succinctly. "Because we didn't win. We just stopped being relevant."

Angela furrowed her brow. "I'm not sure I follow."

"Whoever was controlling the Omnics - whether you believe it's the Illuminati, aliens, or the Omnics themselves, despite their denials - they got what they wanted. They didn't need to fight anymore. We called a sudden cease-fire a victory, and we're still drawing ourselves up out of the ashes."

Angela didn't respond, and for a moment, the two women stood in silence, suddenly feeling a chill. The happy crowds of revelers eating foods and enjoying themselves seemed distanced, oblivious to the dangers which still lurked in the world.

"I wouldn't go that far," Angela finally spoke. "But whatever the reason, we're still here. And we can celebrate the end of the Crisis, and ensure another doesn't happen."

"Oh, I think we can certainly do better than that," Moira opined. "We just need a little courage."

Angela smiled thinly. "Perhaps so."

A moment later, she excused herself. Moira lingered a minute longer at the edge of the picnic, and then returned inside, getting back to her work. She had so much more to do before the day was done.

* * *

In Jack's quarters, Gabe finished tossing a salad with nuts, dried fruit, and dressing just as Jack got out of the shower. Outside, the light was fading, and through an open window, Gabe could tell that the din of the celebratory crowd had died down. The party was starting to break up and move inside.

"God, I think there's still grease stuck in my sinuses," Jack groaned as he walked out of his bathroom. "I'm going to smell cheap burger patties for the next week."

Sitting down at the table, he leaned back into a chair, and laid the towel he was using to dry his hair over his eyes.

"Remind me why I do this every year? And why you don't help?" he asked querulously.

"It's all about the image. You're a lovable cranky man, and I'm a frightening cranky man. We can't cross those two roles over, or there'd be chaos in the ranks," Gabe explained.

Jack sighed. "I suppose so. I did break character and make a double cheeseburger this year. For your gunslinger, that McCree. Funny guy. Is dressing like a cowboy his thing? Or was he just trying to impress me?"

"Cowboy is almost entirely his thing," Gabe answered, carrying the salad over to the table. "And if he ever tries to 'impress' you, I will murder him," he added, serving portions out onto the plates.

Jack chuckled. "Well, I bet he wouldn't make me a nice salad like this anyway. Thanks."

As he set the bowl down on the table, Gabe felt a peck on his cheek from Jack, and smiled. He'd missed this. Just the two of them, together. It was such a small thing, in the grand scheme of the world, but when Gabe had it, it felt like everything. But to think - if he hadn't found Moira, he might have lost it all already.

Suddenly, Gabe's chest felt tight, and his breath caught in his throat.

"Hey, what's wrong?" Jack asked, concerned.

"I - it's..."

Gabe tried to speak, but the words suddenly were catching. He looked away from Jack, hiding his face.

"Hey, it's ok," Jack spoke, putting his hand over Gabe's on the table. "Just breathe in and out."

Gabe felt embarrassed, going out of control like this in front of Jack. But he regulated his breathing, and a moment later, his throat cleared, and he shook his head.

"Sorry," he apologized. "Don't know where that came from."

"Nothing to be sorry for," Jack said, and paused. "Anything you want to talk about?"

Gabe sat down across from Jack, and looked up at him, and glancing for a split-second at the spot on his neck where he'd secretly injected Moira's treatment.

"I... guess I'm just feeling worn. Worried. Remember when I told you I thought the Shimada had a Sage core they were trying to sell?

Jack nodded.

"I was right. But it changed hands, and now I can't track it down. All I know is that Talon has it."

Jack grimaced.

"Talon. I keep hearing about them, but nobody seems to know much."

"Almost all we have is the name, and a front they operate. Whoever they are, Jack - they're professional. The real deal. I don't even know what they want, or where they are. All I know is that they recently acquired a key component an Omnica AI so powerful and dangerous it makes a regular Omnic look like a child's toy.

"And after all this work, all this time I've put in to getting a core back so we could study one, and I feel like I've hit a wall. Now, the anniversary's come around again, and I still don't have answers - for myself, for us, for... all the people who didn't make it."

Finishing his thought, Gabe looked back down, staring into his salad. For a moment, there was silence, until Jack broke it.

"Gabe... we don't talk about it much, but during the Crisis, the thing which struck me, which inspired me - it was you. How you worked so hard to keep everyone alive, to get us to the places where we could do our best, and provide us routes in and out. You worked so goddamn hard, I wondered how you kept yourself going. I still wonder, sometimes.

"These days, I try to do the same thing you did for all of us. But each mission, the weight that hangs on me, if things go wrong... it's so goddamn heavy. If I hadn't learned early on to share that weight, and pass part of it on - well, I would have been done a long time ago.

"I believe that in a lot of ways, you're stronger than me, Gabe. I think you were just able to hold on to more of that weight by yourself. But it's still there, and not getting lighter. Getting this core, it might get answers, help lighten that weight. But it might not. Either way, you shouldn't rely on it. There's other people here who care about you, who can help. You can still share your burden with us."

Gabe didn't know how to respond. He couldn't tell the truth: he was just a slimy bastard who knew that it was easier to keep people alive than to have to find or train their replacement. He couldn't reveal the sacrifices he'd knowingly made to win, and how cheap and small others' lives had become to him in the process. If he even fully revealed the stunts he still pulled with Blackwatch, explained exactly how he'd gotten his intel in Hanamura, Jack would know that he wasn't stronger, just less compassionate, more ruthless. Instead, Gabe just nodded, and wiped his eyes.

"Yeah," he spoke hoarsely. "Yeah, I should learn how to do that."

"Well, let's start by enjoying your food, and I'll clean up the dishes. Sound good?"

Gabe briefly met Jack's gaze, and nodded, smiling weakly. Picking up his fork, he started eating his salad. Despite the extras he'd put in, it didn't taste like much of anything.


	24. An Arrangement

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Moira takes a walk, and has an unexpected meeting with an old acquaintance. He has an interesting offer for her.

Moira let her mind wander as she followed the path through the woods. It was a quiet trail that led to the summit of an alpine foothill, close to the Overwatch base. Occasionally, when stuck in her work, Moira found that the best thing she could do was to stop thinking about it. In the back of her mind, the ideas would continue to move, rotate, and evolve, free of the rein of her conscious grasp. Somewhere from a few hours to days later, a new approach would appear to her. Finding the patience to let this happen naturally, instead of trying to force her way forward, was still something Moira found challenging. So, when the need arose, she would take walks like these to distract herself from the roadblocks she was facing.

The forest around Moira was old - a mix of deciduous and evergreen trees, stretching high above to reach the sunlight, and sending roots deep below to gather from the soil. A strange, ancient arrangement, which had perpetuated itself in one form or another for millions of years. One form of matter which, somehow, regulated itself, moving and regenerating and staying just one step ahead of natural decay. A form of life.

The concept of life, and all its forms, had grabbed Moira's interest for as long as she could recall. As she had learned, and matured, she had eventually focused on learning its language: genetics. Sequences of nucleotides which ingeniously encoded the instructions for every living being to go on in the world. From the lichens on rocks she passed, to the trees towering above her head, to the squirrels that nestled in their branches - they all shared this common basis, the polymeric strands nestled in the cores of their cells.

In some ways, DNA and RNA acted like computers. They were read, copied, and translated in simple, understandable ways, like the tape of some ultimate Turing machine. But it quickly grew more complicated, through regulations, suppressions, mutations, epigenetics, and more - its program changed itself as it went on, fracturing and changing even within the same organism. Many had dreamed of writing their own programs into life, and run headfirst into these complications, leading to people like Reyes. His genes had been smashed to pieces, mutated over and over by the vector placed in his body to enhance his abilities. Moira had stopped that process, but she imagined his body as a mosaic of uncomfortable neighbors, each one different and barely able to communicate with one another. Any process Moira herself would consider undertaking had to be much, much more sophisticated than the one which he had gone through. Creating those techniques was her current goal, and though she was making progress, there was still so much to do.

Moira was almost to the end of the trail; the trees had given way to a verdant meadow, rich with the colors of grass and early-summer flowers. At the summit of the hill ahead, she noticed a solitary figure sitting at a picnic table, looking out at the scenery. The corners of Moira's mouth turned down into a slight scowl; she'd been hoping to enjoy a quiet lunch by herself before heading back. However, as she grew closer, she noted that the figure wasn't one of the normal Overwatch redshirts she occasionally saw on the trail - the sort of young person who was fit beyond belief, and bursting with an entirely unreasonable amount of youthful energy. Instead, the figure sat unnaturally still, and had hard angles which glinted in the sun. An Omnic.

"Good afternoon," Moira greeted it, once she was within speaking distance.

The Omnic turned its head smoothly to greet her. It had unique appearance, with two angled eyes, and what looked like a widow's peak sculpted into the piece of metal which was its 'hairstyle.' Moira always thought that the designer of this particular model had, for some reason, wanted to give it the look of a slightly suspect, balding, middle-aged manager. Raising an eyebrow, she changed the tone of her greeting.

"Well, if it isn't Maximilien. What brings you to my neck of the woods, as it were?"

"Good afternoon, Dr. O'Deorain. I'm afraid I'm here on business, as usual," he sighed. "One day, when faced with less scrutiny, we simply must get a drink together, as friends."

Moira smiled. She had always enjoyed Maximilien's oblique sense of humor. Strolling over to the picnic table, she sat across from him at the table.

"I'll hold you to that," she jested, and let him continue.

"As for today, I have a new offer for you. Having made masterful use of the information we exchanged with you, regarding the enhancement program's past - well, we were all impressed with your results, and the outcome. Now, we'd like to offer another boon to your research. How does a gracious timeshare on the world's most advanced computing resource sound?"

"Oh? Just how advanced, exactly, is this shiny new computer of yours? A handful of qubits isn't going to cut it for my research, I'm afraid."

"I must correct you there, doctor," Maximilien objected. "It's actually an old computer. Quite rare, though. And as far as power goes - well, let's just say it could run an army, if you let it. A task even more complex than simulating the bits of biological goulash you're interested in, I'm told."

Moira paused for a second, making sure her interpretation of his words was correct.

"Normally, I would insist that you're joking, but I've recently heard of an unscrupulous organization which just acquired such an artifact. Sage computers are an uncommon resource, indeed."

"Unscrupulous?" Maximilien gasped, clutching at his chest. "You wound me. Does Talon's collective lack of scruples give you pause?"

Moira couldn't resist a small chuckle. "Not at all. Since we've established your lack of character, perhaps you'd like to drop the other shoe, and name your price for this 'gracious timeshare.'"

"Well, Dr. O'Deorain, you must admit that deals are always more interesting than gifts. Where's the fun in getting everything you want for free? I know you appreciate a good challenge.

"What we want is for you to quietly get your new boss, Gabriel Reyes, out of the game. He's looking quite hard for us, you know. Makes doing business difficult. Killing him, though, would draw far too much attention. I have no doubt his sweet, loyal boyfriend would bring down a vengeance of apocalyptic magnitude down on anyone involved, were that to happen. No, in one way or another, we just need him safely sidelined."

Moira brought a finger up to her chin, leaning back and staring at the sky in consideration. Reyes was not a man to trifle with, but she was fairly confident he had underestimated her. Many people did, seeing in her only a maniacal focus on work - which, she admitted, was her defining feature. As a result, they sometimes let their guard down, as Reyes had. She had heard him, muttering faintly during his reaction to the treatment, and seen some of the faults which ran underneath his facade. There were plenty of places to push: his fear of loss, his terror of death. But it was still a risk, one which she wasn't sure was necessary.

"It's possible. But I need to know of this is truly worth my while."

"Understandable," Maximilien replied. From somewhere, he pulled out a small data fob, and placed it on the weathered wood of the picnic table between them.

"This will give you access to the Sage. Use it for a month. If you're not astounded by just how much it can assist you, then I suppose we'll just have to find another way to tempt you. But, if you find it useful as we suspect you will... then your side of the bargain begins. Does that sound reasonable to you, Dr. O'Deorain?"

Moira considered another moment, as a pleasant, warm breeze swept through the meadow, sending ripples through the sighing grass. Then, Moira held out her hand. Maximilien took it, and they shook on the deal.

"Eminently reasonable - as always, Maximilien," Moira assented.

With the arrangement set, they stood up and went their separate ways. Maximilien disappeared into the forest, starting the long hike back to his pickup point. Moira began the hike returning to Overwatch HQ, excited to test the capabilities she'd been offered.


	25. The Rabbit Trick

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Moira gives a creative demonstration of her progress to Gabe. Later, Gabe reflects on the possibilities the future could have for him, and is confronted over a past action by Angela.

Days came and went, accumulating into weeks and months. During that time, Gabe put everything he had into learning about Talon. Most of the leads had turned out to be dead ends, but a single raid on a Panamanian law office had finally yielded some solid intel. Following the trail of shell corporations and cutting through some very creative accounting, Gabe ultimately had traced huge amounts of capital back to a few key players. Powerful people - heads of industry and finance, who all had voiced objections to what they deemed the overzealous rule of Overwatch in the post-Crisis era. Apparently, they had decided more than words had been necessary.

But after that raid, the real trouble had started. Talon had tightened its security further, while Overwatch itself suddenly seemed to spring holes. Multiple sites had experienced security breaches, and hackers had gotten hold of sensitive personnel information and mobilization plans. Gabe had worried that someday, the tables would turn on them, and they wouldn't understand how to handle it. Now, it seemed that day was growing closer. His only answer was to keep looking at how to take down Talon before things came to a head.

Half-formed ideas rattled around his brain, outlining steps of financial, legal, and physical hurdles he could throw at the parts of Talon he knew about. But somehow, he suspected, they wouldn't stick. He needed to get more creative, but his mind felt trapped in a circle of the same thoughts. Maybe he was getting old after all. Yawning, he started reaching across his desk to open another can of coffee, and was interrupted by a knock on the door.

"Come in," Gabe sighed, opening the can of coffee and leaning back in his chair. Moira opened the door, stepping into his office with the same measured presence she always seemed to carry.

"Commander Reyes," she greeted him cordially. "Is this a good time?"

"Good as any," Reyes grunted, sipping at the can.

"Well, it just so happens I have a piece of good news; a result I think you'll find quite interesting."

"Oh? What exactly might that be?"

Moira smiled cryptically. "I think you'd be more inclined to believe me if you saw it for yourself."

"Bringing some drama to the table today, are we?"

"In this case, I believe it's justified."

Gabe stood up and drained the rest of the can, knowing Moira would make him leave it outside her lab if he brought it along.

"Let's go, then," he assented.

They traveled the short distance to Moira's basement lab, the "Applied Magnetohydrodynamics Laboratory." Her cover story was about some impenetrable research on that topic. Scanning fingerprints and irises at the lab's entrance, its system recognized them, and opened the heavy door.

Beyond was a crowded space, filled with equipment Gabe couldn't begin to guess the purpose of. Anybody else might call the space messy, but Gabe had a suspicion that Moira would know exactly where to find anything which she needed at a given moment. They entered, and Gabe followed Moira to a large, plastic box sitting on a lab bench. Its front was transparent, revealing its contents - a large compartment, divided in half by a removable wall. A small, light-brown rabbit was sitting in the left section of the box, wiggling its nose and staring at the newcomers expectantly with wide eyes.

"I have a trick I'd like to show you, with the help of my lovely assistant here," Moira explained. Reaching forward, she took the piece of plastic dividing the box out of its slot. Moira held it up to the light in front of Gabe, showing that it was actually full of small holes, sized to let little else than air pass through.

"This, obviously, is an ordinary semi-permeable barrier," Moira explained. "You'd agree that a normal rabbit couldn't pass through this, correct?"

Gabe nodded, and crossed his arms. He didn't have much patience for showmanship.

Turning, Moira replaced the barrier into the box. The rabbit remained on the left side, and began grooming one ear.

"Well, this just happens to be an extraordinary rabbit," Moira teased. Reaching into a pocket, she took out a carrot, and opening the box's lid, placed it into its right section, inaccessible to the rabbit. Then, Moira closed the lid, and the rabbit stopped grooming. Lifting its nose in the air, it hopped over to the barrier, sniffing around in hopes of discovering a passage to the treat. Finding none, it stepped back again, and stared at the barrier.

"Moira, what's the-" Gabe began to ask, but stopped himself as his eye caught something strange. It looked like a wisp of thick smoke had started emerging from the tip of the rabbit's nose - no, he corrected himself, it was the rabbit's nose itself, turning into the smoke. The rest of the rabbit's head and body continued this strange dissolution into murky black substance, which shifted and stretched, reminding Gabe of a swarm of ants, crawling over itself with a strange intelligence. The substance which had been the rabbit then launched itself at the barrier, and quickly squeezed through the small holes to the other side of the box. Once it had collected itself fully on the other side, the swarm calmed, and then seemed to freeze, re-forming the nose, ears, and furry body of the rabbit. It shook its head again, and began to nibble on the carrot now in front of it.

Gabe stood frozen as Moira opened the box, and took the rabbit into her arms, holding the carrot for it to continue eating.

"I'm not the expert in covert operations, but I believe I could think of a few applications of this for you, Commander," she commented dryly. After the rabbit had finished the carrot, she gave it a pat on its fluffy head.

"Would you like to explain what I just saw?" Gabe asked quietly, after a long pause.

Moira smiled again, more broadly. "It would be my pleasure," she replied, and began to explain all the things which an organism could do, when one had direct control over its genetic code.

* * *

Gabe sat alone on the Overwatch HQ roof. The sun had moved past its apex in the sky, but its heat still radiated down onto the tiles near the helipad. A drop of sweat fell down Gabe's forehead; the sensation reminded him of home, and of hot days a long time ago, and far away. In all the time after the Crisis, he'd only ever been back there once. It had been painful experience; everything had changed. Only a handful of places had been left untouched by either the Crisis, or the ensuing reconstruction. Just a few hints remained of the places where he had grown up. Even the spot where the truck had hit him was gone, the streets rearranged.

He considered whether what he had experienced during that visit - the sensation of being a ghost from another world - was what it would feel like to live forever. To see everything fall to dust, and be replaced by the new, leaving the original as only a hazy memory, a shadow impressed in the weak human mind. Was that something which he could accept? It was a question which Gabe had never thought he'd need to consider seriously, but the afternoon he'd spent with Moira had convinced him otherwise.

There were so many things he could do with the project she'd demonstrated to him. It could completely change the way he carried out missions, to have a squad of people who could change shape and substance in the way he'd seen. And there'd be no more degradation of his DNA, from either the residual effects of the enhancements or the aging process itself. He, as he was, would be locked down - re-coded chemically and digitally across his entire body. If nobody shot him in the head, he could end up living for a very, very long time. Wasn't that the dream so many had killed for?

Gabe believed Moira could do it. He had seen the rabbit do its trick, over and over, until it got tired and cranky. He'd touched it, and felt it transform. The trick was real. But did he want that to be him? He'd given her the go-ahead to continue, but the decision to apply its results to humans would ultimately be up to him. And, despite his moral flexibility, he knew he could only accept the responsibility of volunteering himself for the pilot test.

"Commander Reyes," an accented voice behind him called out. Angela Ziegler. "I thought I saw you heading up here."

"I find it's a good place for when you want to have a moment alone," Reyes quipped, turning to look at the Doctor. "What can I do for you?"

"I believe you're quite aware of what you can do for me - I want to know what treatment you're on that's keeping you alive."

Reyes's face took on its characteristic scowl. "As I've told you, I've made arrangements. As far as I'm concerned, that's the only relevant information you need to know."

"Maybe if you had kept this to yourself, and-"

Angela broke her sentence off abruptly, looking around to make sure that they were alone before continuing in a near-whisper.

"-and if you hadn't also treated Jack, I would be more willing to let this go. But the vector was completely absent from Jack's blood in his last test. Did you really think I wouldn't put two and two together?"

Gabe said nothing for a moment, and scratched his chin.

"Jack's always been healthy, as I'm sure your records show. I'd chalk it up to good luck. It would be pretty hard to prove otherwise, as far as I'm aware."

Angela let out a short, frustrated sigh.

"Gabe, please - I'm not here to play games. Beyond my concerns about the ethics and legality of what you've done, I'm concerned for your health, and Jack's health. This treatment you have - it could be doing things you're not aware of. I need to see how it works, to make sure you both are safe. Otherwise, the fabric of Overwatch's leadership could still be compromised."

Looking at Angela, Gabe examined her face for a split-second before responding.

"I can't reproduce the treatment for you to examine, Angela. It came from a one-time deal done through third parties - the sort of people who normally take great care to avoid Overwatch, for obvious reasons," he lied. "But, believe me, I didn't do this blindly - I might not know medicine, but I know people. I made it clear to them that there would be hell to pay if something went wrong."

Angela shook her head, and paced a few steps back and forth.

"Medicine... treatment... these things can never be based on fear. It simply doesn't work."

She stopped pacing, and sighed again.

"But I suppose what's done is done. You're alive, and I can't deny that we're better off for that. But you need to make Jack aware of what you've done to him. The fact that you included him in your experiment without his knowledge - that's truly unacceptable."

Slowly, Gabe stood up off the roof, rose to his full height, and turned to address Angela.

"If he finds out the truth, Dr. Ziegler - Overwatch will tear itself in half," he stated, his voice forceful yet calm. "I will not allow that to happen. Not now, not ever. I know you don't stoop to playing my games, but believe me - you don't want to be a piece I want taken off the board. All Jack needs to know is that the vector is out of his system. A lucky accident. Do you understand?"

Angela had no words; her expression conveyed a mixture of rage and disbelief.

"I'll take that as a yes," Gabe continued. "At the end of the day, Doctor - just remember that we're still here. Jack, me, and you - alive and well, and in the places we should be. And that's worth something."

With that remark, Gabe walked away, back to the stairwell, down into HQ. Angela stood alone on the roof for a moment more. Then, after letting out a stream of creative German curses under her breath, she too turned and walked back down into the building.


	26. Drifting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Genji reflects on his past, and where he's ended up. A mission notice interrupts him.

Genji sat cross-legged on his bed, a book lying open by his feet. Moira had lent it to him. The mysterious scientist had begun to train for missions with him and McCree, citing the need for 'field research.' Genji couldn't have told you what Moira needed in the field, but she certainly knew an incredible amount, and was surprisingly capable during training as well. Until speaking with her, he hadn't realized just how little he understood about nature, or science. According to her, there was a tiny nuclear reactor in his right thigh that powered nearly everything artificial in his body. He'd had no idea, and suddenly felt like an idiot.

But despite his prior interest in correcting his ignorance, Genji wasn't currently reading. His eyes had drifted across the same sentences over and over, the concepts failing to take hold in his mind. His attention had drifted away from the pages, and his gaze had landed on the blank beige wall on the opposite side of the room. It wasn't in any way interesting, but that was where he was staring anyway.

After some time had passed, Genji slowly reflected on the fact that he was doing absolutely nothing. No thoughts entered his mind, no feelings turned in his breast. And yet, it didn't feel like a peaceful moment; it felt like a a total absence, as if everything that made him himself had evaporated, leaving an empty body staring outwards. Genji continued sitting, captured in this absence until, eventually, he closed his eyes.

The next thing he saw was the streets of Hanamura. While Hanamura had become a small section within a larger city, it had still managed to retain a part of its old-time charm - Genji's family had played no small part in making that the case, he was sure. Narrow streets twisted and wound up to the castle, lined with small businesses and homes. As the sun went down, red-orange light slanted through the streets, causing strange shadows to leap up and travel across the buildings, which lit gradually with a mish-mosh of a century's lighting technology: warm incandescent glows, neon eye-catchers, bright white LEDs, and monochrome sodium lamps.

Genji walked down one of these streets, treasuring each familiar step, warmly remembering evenings spent out on the streets, and nights up in the apartments he passed. In a strange sense, he knew he was dreaming as he viewed the scene, but the fact seemed irrelevant. Finally, after turning around one more corner, he came upon the ramen shop near the castle, its doors open, light spilling out. Genji stepped inside.

At the counter, Hanzo was casually sitting on one of the stools, eating a bowl of spicy curry ramen. Hearing someone enter, he turned to look at the newcomer. Seeing Genji, he motioned at the seat next to him, before resuming his meal.

As suddenly as he'd fallen asleep, Genji woke. The skin where his chest and legs met the prosthetics was itching, so much that it felt more like burning. As he stood up to get his medicine from his bathroom cabinet, a crystal-clear recollection of the dream struck him. Normally, he didn't pay attention to dreams, but this one refused to slip away as most did; the memory of what he'd experienced in it was too strong - the poignant sensation of home, of belonging somewhere. But awake once more, that feeling had disappeared. The time-stopping absence inside of him had returned, and he had no idea how to fix it. He wondered if Hanzo, wherever he was, felt as bad. He wondered why he had never asked Reyes if he knew whether Hanzo was even still alive.

Genji clenched his jaw. He didn't want to think about Hanzo. Finding the right container in his cabinet, he shook two pills out of it and swallowed them with a sip of water. Across the room on his desk, his Overwatch tablet suddenly lit up with an alert, and beeped alarmingly. Walking over to it, Genji picked it up and read the message.

_OSLO FACILITY ATTACKED. MEET FOR BRIEFING ON IMMEDIATE RECON MISSION. REYES._

Putting the tablet back down, Genji took a deep breath in, and let it out slowly while trying to let go of his thoughts of home; there was no time for distractions, now. And yet, unbidden, he suddenly wondered why he was still fighting, now that his family's empire had crumbled. As he was packing, the familiar weight of a blade in his hand provided the answer: in this foreign place and unnatural body, it was the only thing he still knew.


	27. Transformation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Facing a threat he's not sure Overwatch is equipped to deal with, Gabe lets Moira carry out an experiment on him that could make him superhuman.

Leaning back in the pilot's chair, Gabe watched moonlit clouds pass under the dropship, receding into the night. Though he was tired, sleep evaded him; when he closed his eyes, he kept seeing frames from the footage of the explosion at the Oslo facility. Over and over, his brain kept searching for some detail, some fact that had eluded him. At the back of his mind, he knew his thoughts were only becoming twisted, confused, but the cold logic couldn't halt the scenes from repeating in his head. This was his fault; he had to find a way to fix it.

It was his job to defend Overwatch in ways nobody else could, by nipping problems in the bud and tying up loose ends. And yet, despite his vigilance, Talon had slipped through. Maybe he'd let himself get soft. Maybe he'd gotten distracted. Maybe he'd just gotten too old. Whatever the reason, Talon had suddenly become a menace capable of tearing down everything which Overwatch had built over decades. Gabe refused to let that happen, no matter the cost.

A few hours later, the dropship descended out of the sky, landing on the rooftop of Overwatch HQ. Though it was past midnight, Gabe headed straight down to Moira's lab, and was unsurprised to find her poring over data spread out across multiple screens.

"Commander," she greeted him, looking up from her work. "What can I do for you?"

"The cellular transformation you did on the rabbit," Gabe stated. "You know it'll work on a human?"

Moira steepled her fingers, and stared down at them for a moment.

"...if I told you the process was risk-free, that would be a lie. But I am very confident - enough so that I'm planning to test it on myself quite soon."

Gabe shook his head.

"No. If anything goes wrong, you're the only one who could sort it out. I'll be your test subject. I'm an old hand at being a guinea pig, anyway."

Moira actually looked taken aback at his offer.

"Gabriel - I appreciate your esteem in me, but are you certain? Why the sudden decision?"

Gabe let out a long breath, and clasped his hands behind his back.

"It's Talon. We're about to go head to head with them, and right now, I don't think Overwatch can counter them effectively. That's why we need any edge we can get; a wild card which no one would expect. What you showed me - being able to move through the air, reform at will - that's exactly what we could use."

Moira considered his statement, and nodded solemnly.

"I understand. To prepare the process for a human, I need-" she paused, bringing up a chart on her monitor, "-26 hours. Take that time to make sure you're ready. If you change your mind, let me know."

"Doc, once I'm in, I'm in. I'll see you in 26 hours."

With that, Gabe turned and walked out of the lab.

* * *

Placing his pen on the desk, Gabe read his letter to Jack over again.

Jack-

If you're reading this, it means something went wrong. I'm sorry I didn't tell you, but I knew you'd put a stop to it. Nonetheless, this is my project, and my decision. I believe it's worth the risk. Moira saved my life - I trust her work, and we need the advantage it can give us.

Things are changing fast. People don't see Overwatch as the savior of humanity anymore - they think we're a dysfunctional collection of wrinkled veterans and naive young do-gooders, out of touch with the world. I can't deny that there's some truth to that view.

All I know right know is that Talon is part of the reason people are thinking worse of us, and now they've begun to take the lives of our soldiers as well. They need to be stopped, now; if we try to fight them the 'right' way, we're doomed.

I'm sorry I've left you alone with this, but I know you can do it. You can bring everyone together, and beat this. That's why you were chosen to lead Overwatch after the war - you can inspire more than a band of guerillas fighting a desperate battle. You can inspire heroes.

Jack, I love you. I have for a long time, and I consider it one of the greatest blessings in my life that you loved me back. Just promise me when you find your next man, he'll be somebody who treats you better than I did.

Gabe

It wasn't good, but it was as good as he was going to get it. He folded the page into thirds, and placed it on the desk in his room. It would have to do.

That just left another 22 hours to go. He leaned back in his chair, and stared at the ceiling in his quarters.

His head was too muddled for him to work or sleep. In a certain sense, he couldn't believe the process he was about to undergo was real. And yet, he took so much else for granted these days: speaking gorillas, cyborg ninjas... was becoming a hybrid synthetic-organic human that far off from the rest of it? What would it feel like?

Gabe shook his head. He needed to do something to relax, take his mind off things. Seeing Jack was out of the question; after the letter he'd written, he wouldn't be able to keep it together seeing him in person. How had he used to blow off steam? He could barely remember.

Moving to his bed, Gabe turned on the TV, and tried watching a few movies. Their action crawled by, but somewhere around the third one, he managed to fall asleep.

* * *

Gabe sat on the bench in Moira's lab, once again covered in sensors, once again second-guessing himself. Could he really trust her research, that what had worked on the rabbit, still happily sniffing around its cage, would work on him? Even if it did work, a smaller voice asked, had he fully accepted the fact that after the process was complete, he would no longer truly be human?

The rabbit disappeared in its cage, then re-formed on the other side, and scratched its nose. Gabe sat up straight, and took a breath. He knew he could do so much more; he just needed the time, needed the energy. This could give him all that, and more.

Moira approached, pulling a trolley of complex equipment and an IV bag containing an inky, black liquid.

"Your readings look good," Moira announced, looking down at her tablet sitting on the cart. "Everything's in order to begin, if you're ready."

"Well, then," Gabe exhaled, his voice wavering more than he cared to admit. "Let's do this."

Moira stepped closer, and took Gabe's left arm. Quickly, he felt a sting as the IV's needle went into his vein, and its inky liquid started dripping into his body. He felt its cool presence moving along his arm, snaking up into his core. Moira nodded, and stepped back, returning to her equipment. Glancing at her face, Gabe saw a smile. Instantly, something about that set him on edge; her face had a tinge of relief. Was that right? He opened his mouth to ask a question.

Before he could, something hit him, shattering his thoughts into a million pieces, which fell all throughout his mind. Falling, they mixed with sensations and memories in an incomprehensible stream. Gabe was dropping through the sky, fighting on the ground, feeling the burn of an Omnic weapon on his hip. Black oil began raining out of the sky, before turning into a downpour flooding the battlefield. It pelted down on him, coming down with enough force to push him into the muddy ground. Then, he was breathing the oil in, and it was becoming him. It twisted his body from every angle, finding every nook and cranny, traveling up nose and down into his intestines. It popped his eyes open, seeking the sweet nerves at their back, which it grabbed and rode up into his skull. Then, there were only bars of light and darkness, fighting each other, colliding and rotating. Soon those, too, faded into the writhing, inky black.

In that place, time stretched thin. Nothing marked its passing, not even a thought or a breath. There was only something which had called itself Gabriel, reduced to a small, shining loop which said: I am still here. It held on desperately, as the darkness boiled around it, looking for it. And then, finally, the roiling void found it.

A force took that bright loop in its great hand, and began to work it. Squashing it, it forced the loop to cross itself, forming a figure 8. Then, with a fierce violence, it ripped the two rings apart. One, it continued to hold, bringing it down, and folding it into itself. The other, it released, and back sent towards a pinprick of light, a solitary point it had opened.

* * *

Gabe bolted upright, and began coughing. Somehow, reflexively, he had expected something to come out, but nothing had; his lungs were clear. Looking to his left, he saw the IV bag was empty, and whatever had been in it was now in him.

Holding up his arms, Gabe looked over them. With a start, he saw that his hands were pitch-black, his fingertips beginning to turn into the mist which he'd seen the rabbit transform into. Raw panic rose in his chest as they continued to disappear, his hands turning into dust.

There was a hand on his shoulder. Moira.

"No need for worry, Commander. Things went perfectly. Just take a breath, and wait a moment."

Gabe nodded once, and did as he was told, breathing in deeply to control himself. As he watched, his hands' evaporation slowed, and then stopped. A moment later, the missing matter from his fingers returned, reforming his hands to their original state. He breathed a sigh of relief as he turned them over, inspecting them. They looked like they always had: large, scarred, but his.

Moira removed her hand from Gabe's shoulder, and went back to tapping on her tablet, making notes.

"Your extremities - the fingers, toes - those are the first to be able to transform," she explained. "Your body needs time to figure the rest of itself out as it changes. More will come. Perhaps until then, when you can gain better control, it would be best to keep yourself 'under wraps,' as it were. Sudden changes like this may occur from time to time."

"And... you're sure, that everything went to plan?" Gabe asked, looking over his shoulder at Moira. "I can't remember much, but I feel like something..." he broke off, shaking his head. "Nevermind."

"You have my assurance, Gabriel. Everything went to plan. Now, are you up for a few tests?"

Gabe nodded. "Let's see what I can do."


	28. A Meal to Remember

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Moira treats herself to a fancy meal out after her successes. There, she meets an uninvited guest.

Moira washed her face, and could practically feel the stress of the previous few weeks slipping off into the water. After patting her face dry with a fresh towel, she looked at herself in the mirror. A smile broke out over her face, and she even laughed, then shook her head. It had worked out. She'd made it another step - in her research, her position, her life. For once, she could take a day off. It was time to celebrate.

Even a day after it had all happened, she had trouble believing everything had panned out so well. Just when she had been wondering how to push Reyes into accepting the second treatment, he'd come to her asking for it. Then, the transforming agent had operated perfectly, going straight for his brain, just as she'd programmed it to. There, it had smoothly begun its work, and spread to the rest of his body. Once the Sage was done processing all the data, she had no doubt a small tweak to the artificial component of Reyes's brain could chahge his behavior sufficiently to get him sidelined within Overwatch. Then, her end of the bargain would be complete, and Maximilien could give her permanent access to the Sage's capabilities for her research.

And yet, Moira reflected as she buttoned up a freshly pressed shirt, something about continuing to use the Sage gave her pause. While it had had a transformative effect on her work, reducing the time she spent analyzing data and designing experiments from weeks to days, sometimes hours, she couldn't shake the feeling that she was losing something in the process - perhaps even that something was being hidden from her. Even though it was just a fragment of a network that had run an Omnium, could it still have the potential to manipulate, control?

She would have to look into it, Moira resolved. But that could wait for another day. Tonight, she had a reservation for one at the best restaurant in the next town over.

* * *

The car Moira had taken over from the base drove away, leaving to park itself for the evening. A cool breeze followed it down the street, ruffling the lapels of Moira's jacket and the awnings of restaurants and shops. The orange tint of the sun in the sky was fading fast, and old-fashioned street lamps were flickering on, their LED fascimiles of a gas flame only barely discernable from the real thing. Turning, Moira straighened her jacket, and entered the Restaurant Provençal.

Inside, the Maitre'd greeted her - a tall woman wearing a tuxedo, standing behind a worn antique desk, nestled between large plants and a series of ornate vases.

"O'Shaugnessy, 6:30 reservation," Moira provided.

"Ah, yes," the Maitre'd responded, looking down at her ledger. "The other member of your party has already been seated. Right this way, please."

Moira's instinct caught her tongue before she voiced a correction. Instead, she nodded, and followed the Maitre'd. To her surprise, they side-skirted the main dining area completely, passing tables of diners and their meals. Reaching a private room at the back, the Maitre'd opened its door for her, and Moira stepped inside.

The room was vast - it could have seated about 20 people. Instead, she saw only Maximilien, lounging in a chair at the far end of a long table. Behind him, a fire was roaring cheerily inside an aggressively modern glass-and-ceramic interpretation of a fireplace. Hearing her enter, he turned to see his guest.

"Dr. O'Deorain!" he greeted her, rising from the chair and clapping his metallic hands together.

"Maximilien. I thought this might be your doing," Moira replied, smiling to hide her unease at this surprise.

"Oh, come now - I hope you didn't think I was just joking when I said we must get a drink together," Maximilien chided, turning his head in a scolding manner. "In any case, when I heard you were planning a little celebration - well, I thought it would just be a marvelous time to get together."

"You do have an impeccable sense of timing," Moira admitted. "I was planning to celebrate the latest advance in my research, but I beleive we can celebrate the conclusion of a bargain as well."

"Just as I thought!" Maximilien exclaimed. "You really do never fail to impress, Doctor. You'll have to share the details about Reyes with me later. For now, I have another job for you, one far more difficult... you must choose six courses from this menu."

Dramatically, Maximilien flipped through the thick menu's many pages, putting a hand on his head in mock exasperation.

"Carpaccio or escargot, filet or trout, profiterolles or sorbet? The permutations are simply too numerous for my simple Omnic mind!"

Moira snorted. "If you're footing the bill, Maximilien, then I'm sure I can simply order one of each."

Maximilien paused, and snapped the menu shut. "An outstanding idea as always, Doctor."

* * *

Tipping her glass, Moira drank the last swallow of the digestif the sommelier had paired with her dessert. It was excellent, just as all the other courses had been. Contentedly, she sighed, and savored the moment. Some meals were worth remembering, and this was one such meal.

Moira placed the fluted glass back on the table, and then turned to face Maximilien.

"Well, then, now that we've both eaten our fill, would you like to tell me the real reason you're here?" she asked.

"As much as I enjoy our time together, there is business which I would like to discuss," Maximilien sighed, folding his hands on the table. "You and others have doubtless noted that Talon has been much more... active, as of late. Things have begun to evolve rapidly. So, if you would be so kind, I'd like to know what you'll be doing with Reyes."

Moira leaned back in her chair.

"The Commander is a legend. So capable, so dedicated. And yet, so solitary, so isolated. He's already done things which other people would be shocked to hear. Hiring me, for example. Using my treatment on Commander Morrison without his consent. Volunteering for another experimental treatment from me, to transform his body to a synthetic chemistry. Which, incidentally, makes the fabric of his mind quite manipulable to me.

"If I simply remove what few limits he has left, the growing extremity of his actions will only look like the continuation of a trend. And even he can only get away with so much, in the end."

Maximilien rubbed his chin.

"I see. However, wouldn't you be implicated when they start to look into all this?"

Moira shrugged expansively. "I've achieved a true breakthrough during my time here. That's all that matters. It's been fun, but I'm getting tired of using a fake name. Now, I want to share what I've done with the world. Rub their noses in it, if I'm being perfectly candid."

Maximilien nodded. "That's quite a plan. Quite a plan, indeed."

He then paused for a moment, and went perfectly still, abandoning the micromotions which made him appear more human to devote his processing solely to thought. Moira waited for him patiently as he cogitated.

"Moira, would you share with me your opinion on Overwatch, as an organization?" he finally asked, emerging from his frozen state.

Moira chuckled softly, and leaned back in her chair. "A military organzation which overgrew and outlived its original purpose, and now strangles innovation, freedom, and trade across the globe."

"I couldn't say it better myself, Doctor. I'm relieved we see eye-to-eye on this, because as it so happens, I would like your assistance in removing it from the world stage altogether. And, I believe, your plan fits in perfectly with a little something I have in mind. Something which, additionally, could create an inviting vacancy inside Talon."

"Color me intrigued," Moira replied, raising an eyebrow.

Maximilien explained his plan. He would set the bait, and Moira would make sure Reyes acted on it. With a few adjustments, Moira agreed. Once again, the pair shook hands, as they had over the picnic table in the woods, months ago. Then, they departed.

Moira stood on the street, waiting for her car to pick her up. Night had fallen, and the air outside had grown chiller. Rubbing her hands together, Moira wondered idly what the weather would be like in Venice this time of year. If she played her cards right, she'd be able to find out in a few weeks.


	29. Venetian Holiday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Genji is supposed to stay in the Blackwatch safehouse in Venice until the mission begins, but finds himself tempted to explore the city outside.

Genji placed his fingertips on the outer wall of the Venice safehouse, and imagined the world outside. Its vibrations traveled, through air and stone and water, up to Genji's augmented ears and artificial fingers. When he closed his eyes and concentrated, he had discovered that through his expanded senses, he could resolve the background noise of the city into an endless series of messages.

To one side was the sound of water: lapping endlessly at the edge of the canal, and whirling around the turbines and oars of passing boats. Occasionally, a gondolier passing by would yell some strange phrase, announcing their presence. To the other side was more houses, filled only with the occasional sound of feet climbing stairs, toilets flushing, and conversations muted by their passage through walls. All these messages filled Genji's mind, and he began to imagine the city which produced them: ancient, proud, magnificent in its splendor and slow, inevitable drowning.

Reyes, McCree, and Moira were all out in it somewhere, going about their business: observing, going undercover, and seeing the sights. That left Genji alone in the safehouse. Reyes had worried that his obvious cyberization would make him stick out, and give away Blackwatch's presence in the city. As a result, his only current orders were to stay out of sight. Initially, he hadn't objected to this seemingly sensible arrangement. But, after days of sitting inside, listening to nothing but the messages of an imagined city until the others returned, he'd grown increasingly irritable.

Suddenly, he had realized that he was jealous of the others. They had an ability, a freedom, which he didn't: the chance to simply go out and look at everything he heard. His restriction reminded him long ago times, of the Shimada goons following him around Hanamura at night. And, once he'd made that connection, he could sit still no longer. He needed to go out.

Rifling through some supplies, and later, the others' belongings, he'd constructed an acceptable disguise. He'd borrowed a hoodie from Reyes big enough to hide inside, a scarf from Moira to cover up his patched-up throat, and a pair of sweatpants he'd brought along. Genji cringed at the awkward pairing of the three, but with the hood up, it covered up everything unusual on his body. Which was most of it, to be fair. Now, he just looked a tourist, either shy or with a cold. A little late in the season, perhaps, but it was still busy enough. Nodding at the unremarkable figure reflected in the mirror, he went down to the safehouse's exit.

Its door confronted him. Sturdy and foreboding, it told him that he was about to do something foolish, risky, inadvisable. Genji's heart begin to beat more quickly, and was followed by a flare-up in the grating and itching where the biological and synthetic met in him. These unpleasant sensations buzzed, urging him to consider the impact of his actions. But he shook his head, grit his teeth, and pushed against the door's bar. Then, he was out in the light of day, standing in a courtyard. An ancient fountain burbled in the center of its cobbled square, and the smell of cooking from a nearby house drifted by. The noise of foot-traffic and conversation echoed through a series of worn stone arches to his right. Genji sighed softly, examining each of the surrounding houses' proud, old facades, before turning and walking through the exit. Leaving felt worth it already.

* * *

Genji had walked for an hour, and then decided on a whim to take a break in a cafe which he was passing. It was small, but busy, like most of the city he'd passed so far. Venice had a strange feeling; like a real place slowly being turned into a replica of itself for the hordes of passing tourists. Genji had been right, though; nobody had a second glance to spare for him among all the others. He'd even trailed a Japanese tour group for a while, listening in to the guide talking about Byzantines, spices, and glass. But now, many of the grand old buildings thrust up by that ancient wealth seemed to only host gift shops, hotels, and museums. And yet, if one stepped into the right street, dodged off the main drag, you could still see the echoes of a real city: laundry drying on lines hung outside upper windows, a small grocery store with customers going in and out, and two men sitting on a bench, placidly smoking cigarettes and speaking in Italian.

Genji sipped his coffee, holding it with his left hand. He kept his right in the hoodie's front pocket, out of sight. As large as the crowd was, it wasn't so diverse as to include a large number of cyborgs. Looking out the window, he watched the people go by outside: trying to imagine where they were going, where they were from. He imagined how easy, how natural, he would look in that crowd: just another figure, walking by, off on his own business. He imagined how good it would feel to stand up from his table, and walk out the door, not intending to return to the safehouse, or to Blackwatch. He could have a taste of that freedom he'd always wanted, just for as long as his luck lasted.

But, he knew, that period would be far too short. He had no ID, no place to live, and little money. Knowing Reyes, his body probably even had a tracker in it. Was half of him property of Overwatch? Genji realized he'd never asked: did this new part of him that he'd learned to live with even belong to himself? Or, when they were done with him, would they tear it off, and leave him as they'd found him?

Looking at the bottom of his coffee cup, Genji felt the itching inside start up again. It had been foolish coming here, going against orders. He needed to get back.

Standing up, he put some coins on the table, and left the cafe. Turning right, he set a quick pace back the way he'd came.

* * *

Twenty minutes later, Genji was irrevocably lost. The ancient city, with all its twists and turns, had proved remarkably resilient to backtracking. And it had so, so many bridges. That had reminded Genji of some old math problem about bridges, and how many you needed to cross to end up where you started. He had never understood it, even though Hanzo had said it was simple. Trying to recall the answer, Genji only had a vague feeling the number had to be even.

Seeing an empty table at another outdoor cafe, Genji took it, and sat down, scratching his head. He needed to figure this out. What was the address of the safehouse, again?

A waitress approached.

"Scusi, Signor, do you have a reservation?" she asked, with a haughtiness that could transcend any language barrier. He shook his head in the negative, and stood up to leave.

But as he did so, the waitress's eyes widened, and he realized she was staring at his hand - the right one, which he'd brought down from his head. Her brow furrowed, and she opened her mouth to ask another question.

Then, there was an enormous clatter and crash behind her, as a waiter tripped over something and sent an entire tray of food falling to the pavement. Mercifully, this new event made the waitress instantly forget Genji, and whip around on one foot to identify the source of the calamity.

"Signor Cowboy! Madonna santa, what have you done this time?!"

Taking advantage of the distraction, Genji was quickly making an exit. But what he heard next made him stop in his tracks.

"I tripped on this stupid, uneven threshold, which apparently no lazy-ass fuck has ever thought to fix in the thousand goddamn years this shitty pile of bricks has stood in this fuckin' overrated marsh!" a drawling, angry, unmistakeable voice replied. "I can't be lookin down at my feet when I'm balancin' a tray of fried shrimp on my shoulder!"

It was, without a doubt, McCree - prone on the ground amid broken plates and ruined appetizers. Genji had never felt more embarrassed on another's behalf, or half as glad to see someone.

"The manager says you are an experienced waiter, so why are you needing to stare at your feet? You drop more meals than you serve!"

"Yeah, well, we can't all be perfect little waiters like you! Some of us have other skills!"

"This is ridiculous. Get your things and go. I will clean up this mess."

"You can't fire me, I quit!" McCree yelled, pulling off his apron while standing up, and throwing it to the ground before storming off.

"Oh, and by the way, Carla, your coffee is shit! I can make better with my eyes closed!" he yelled back one last time, before the waitress could kill him with the daggers in her eyes. Genji caught up to him on the next block, falling in step behind him easily.

"Hey, McCree," Genji whispered.

McCree spun on a foot, and almost fell over again.

"I - Jesus, Genji? Is that you? Ya almost gave me a heart attack! Wait, what are ya doin' here? I thought you were supposd'a be in the safehouse," he trailed off.

"Well," Genji said, turning uncomfortably, "...yes. You are supposed to be an undercover waiter."

McCree smiled wanly. "I guess we both don't like our orders too much. Hey, Reyes can only get so angry at once, right?"

Genji said nothing.

"...right?" McCree asked again.

Genji shrugged. "At least a shared burden is always easier."

McCree sighed, and shifted on his feet.

"Having borne some heavy burdens in my time, I ain't too sure 'bout that one, pardner."

Reaching up, he rubbed his eyebrow, and his fingers came away red.

"Dammit. Well, how 'bout you and me head back, see if we can't sneak you in before Reyes gets back? I also could use a patch-up from Moira after that tumble, much as she makes my skin crawl."

Looking closer at McCree's face, Genji noted a nasty cut across it.

"McCree, don't you know how to roll?" he asked.

"Waddaya mean, Genji?"

"You know - a roll." He mimed a falling, twirling motion with his hands. "To fall, without injuring yourself. In my family, we learn this after walking."

"Oh, like secret ninja moves?"

McCree energetically mimed a karate chop, despite his injury.

"No," Genji stated flatly, shaking his head, frowning. "Not at all. It is a fundamental of movement. You must master it before you can even hold a practice sword."

"Oh. Guess it's just another thing I'm missin', then."

McCree's eyes focused on something which wasn't there for a moment, before he snapped out of it and looked back up at Genji.

"Come on, time's a-wastin'."

McCree began walking, and Genji followed. They were silent for a block, but then Genji spoke up.

"McCree - later, I could show you. When you just practice it enough, your body learns it."

"Really? That'd be awful kind of ya, Genji."

Genji nodded. They continued walking on, Genji slightly behind McCree, letting him lead the way. This time, McCree broke the silence.

"Before we get back, can I ask ya something? Has Reyes seemed... different to you, lately?" he asked, scratching the back of his neck.

"Different? How?"

"I can't really say how, just... different. Over the past few weeks. Somethin' in his aura, somethin' in the way he's acting. All secretive, 'specially when he's around Moira. There's somethin' goin' on twixt the two of them, and it ain't as anythin' as innocent as a fling cause Gabriel's ass is as gay as mine. There's secrets there, and it's givin me a real bad feelin'. Like there's a big pile of shit building up, right next to a fan. All I know for sure is that when it hits, I better've learned to roll by then."

Genji didn't know what to do with this influx of information from McCree. Times like these, he felt as though they lived in two different worlds, despite being part of the same unit.

"...Reyes is gay?" Genji finally asked.

McCree laughed. "Hell yeah, him'n Morrison are practically married. Would be, if either of'm could decide to give up their career so they could both live happily ever after. But they're both too goddamn stubborn, so they just try'n keep it on the DL. Fuckin' ridiculous if ya ask me, like they've both been fightin' to be top for the past however-many decades. One of'm just needs to get on the bottom eventually, or this whole thing is gonna blow up. Could be blowin' up already.

"Ah, hell, maybe it's all just in my mind. Anyway, here we are, back at the Palazzo di Blackwatch. God, this city is confusing."

Before Genji had even realized it, they were standing in front of the entrance to the safehouse's courtyard. It was nearly impossible to see from the street, hidden under a dark portico. Quietly, they entered it, and keyed the codes into safehouse's door. After it opened, they entered the house quietly, listening for signs of Reyes or Moira. There was only silence.

"Phew," McCree exhaled. "Looks like ya got away with it. Ain't that Moira's scarf, though? You should get that put away in a hurry."

Genji nodded.

"I will," he agreed. "And McCree... thank you."

McCree nodded in return. "Sure thing, pardner."

"I cannot tell if Reyes is different than he used to be, but - that was never my concern. If anyone were to notice, it would be you. I trust your feelings on this."

A smile broke out across McCree's face.

"Thanks, Genji. That - means a lot to me."

With that, Genji went back to the other's rooms to return the clothes he had borrowed. Then, going back to his own room, he flopped onto the bed and sighed. Affairs in Blackwatch seemed to be getting more complicated.


	30. Best Laid Plans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The mission in Venice doesn't go to plan. Gabe has to deal with the repercussions.

As the clock ticked down the last moments until the mission started, Gabe took in a breath and held it. A break in Talon's network had lead them to Venice, and Antonio Bartalotti. His Palazzo stood at the heart of the city, an imposing and gaudy display of wealth, staffed with a private army of Talon soldiers. After weeks of gathering intel on the ground in Venice, Gabe had finally put together a plan to infiltrate the mansion, take Antonio, and extract him for interrogation. Then, one way or another, Gabe would make him talk - and with that, he could finally start to figure out how to tear Talon down to the ground, just as he had with the Shimada Clan.

Gabe's watch beeped once, quietly, and he let out his breath. The path was set. Now, it was time to walk it.

He and the rest of the team - McCree, Moira, and Genji - had gathered at under an archway near Antonio's Palazzo. Now, quietly and quickly, they moved to one of the Palazzo's outer walls, which Genji quickly scaled. He climbed fluidly, naturally, as though the wall re-formed under his fingertips to provide him handholds. No matter how many times Gabriel had seen it, it never failed to impress him. It had been well worth the effort to recruit him.

Once atop the Palazzo's outer wall, Genji let down a cable, and the rest of the team - McCree, Moira, and Gabe himself - followed it up onto the roof. From there, they traveled along a narrow pathway, hidden from the cameras by the roof's peak. Then, they dropped down into a courtyard, and began dealing with the patrols.

The Talon security units inside the building followed a rigid schedule. Prying inside the Palazzo with all the resources available to him, Gabe had traced out their footsteps - day by day, and hour by hour. Now putting that work to use, he and the others snuck up behind the patrols which intersected their route, and dealt with them. They all were exactly where they were supposed to be, and went down without much of a fight. The entrance was almost going too smoothly, Gabe thought.

With the patrols gone, they were clear to make their way to the heart of the compound - Antonio's office, where he would almost certainly be at this hour. Approaching its double doors, Gabe pushed them open. Inside was the man they had come for, his wide frame sihouetted against the window, standing and peering out into the night like a wannabe Bond villain. Looking at the reflection of Antonio's face in the glass, Gabe saw his eyes shift to look at the intruders who had just entered his office. He began to greet them.

"Good evening, Commander Reyes," he opened, before smirking. "How will this look on the news? Overwatch unlawfully abducting a respected businessman? Even if you take me now, my friends will have me released within the week.

"This... theatrics - have been a waste of our time."

Gabe's mind worked overtime, processing the petulant speech which this scum had just delivered, the smirk on his face only growing wider as he waited for a response. Antonio had known this was coming, had prepared this ahead of time. The infiltration _had_ been too easy. Gabe also had no doubt that Antonio could follow up on what he'd said - Talon had influences everywhere, and wrangle him out from arrest fairly easily, given the limited amount of solid evidence against him.

But in planning this stunt, Antonio forgotten something major: his hands were empty, and Gabe's were not. Overwatch had lost good people in Talon's attacks, and that could never simply go unpunished. There was still a simple solution.

"You're right," Gabe acknowledged plainly.

Then, with a single smooth motion, he lifted his right arm and fired his shotgun into Antonio's chest, which exploded into a blossom of red. The shot carried the man backwards into the plate-glass window behind him, shrapnel and the momentum of his body shattering it, and he fell backwards into the night beyond. For a single moment afterward, the office was silent and empty but for the Blackwatch team.

"Reyes, what did you do?!" McCree cried out a moment later, just as alarms began to blare in the background. "This was not the plan!"

"Well," Gabe said calmly, "looks like we're going with plan B."

Plan B turned out to be fight, nail-and-tooth, against waves of Talon troops which now seemed to pour limitlessly from every building in Rialto. The extraction was messy, to say the least, but Gabe and the others made it out of Venice, and headed back to Overwatch HQ.

* * *

"That's how it went down," Gabe explained, sitting at a table in one of the nicer Overwatch interrogation rooms. "We had to make a stand - Talon thinks we're weak, that they can pick us apart right in front of our faces. I had to show them they're wrong."

Ana and Jack were the other two people currently in the room. Ana was clearly furious, and had been leading most of the questioning. In contrast, Jack just looked tired, and sat quietly in a chair at the table, seeming somehow distant. That worried Gabe more than anything else which had happened since Blackwatch had returned to HQ, and discovered the scale of the trouble they'd caused.

"So, let me get this straight," Ana began. "You clearly recognized that Antonio had set up the situation to create a PR disaster for us, yes?"

"I wouldn't say that - I had a suspicion he was trying to ensnare us, but-"

"Don't give me that shit, Gabriel; you owe us more than that. You saw this was a set-up to drag us through the mud. And yet, instead of aborting the mission, you put a bullet in his face. His internationally-recognized, icon of Italian industry, face. Why?"

Gabe shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He couldn't understand how Ana couldn't see that there had been no other option, no way to step down without losing credibility. Nonetheless, he didn't want to escalate the conversation further.

"Technically, the shot was to his chest-" he corrected, attempting to evade the real question.

"You gave him everything he wanted, and more!" Ana shouted.

"But he's dead, Ana! What he wants doesn't matter anymore!"

"Of course it still matters! When did you become so blind? Talon is far more than Antonio, something you should know better than anyone! Now another will rise in his place, and reap what you've so kindly sown for them."

"I've heard enough," Jack interjected quickly, and sighed. "Ana, could you give us the room? And make sure we have some privacy?" he added, nodding towards the one-way mirror.

Ana took a hard look at Gabe, and then at Jack.

"I know," Jack whispered to her, barely audible to Gabe.

Ana nodded, and left the room. Then, it was just Jack and Gabe, sitting together in silence for a minute. Then, Jack took a deep breath in, sat up straight, and turned to address Gabe. He began speaking, clearly and firmly.

"I trusted you to do this right. To say you broke that trust - it's an understatement. You blew that trust out the goddamn window."

"Jack, I-" Gabe started.

"No," Jack interrupted. "I don't want to hear it; this is my time to talk, and your turn to listen.

"When I was told Antonio had been killed during your mission, and the whole thing had been blown wide open for the entire world to see - I assumed it must have been Genji flying off the handle, or McCree getting an itchy trigger finger. The possibility that you were the one who did this - it didn't even cross my mind. And when they told me I - well, I didn't believe it. I couldn't believe it - that you, of all people, had created this... debacle. An assassination, out on the world stage.

He shook his head, as if he still couldn't believe it.

"So, just tell me straight up, Gabe. Why'd you kill him?"

Gabe stared up at the ceiling for a moment, thinking over how to phrase his response. He felt that the weight of whatever would come rested on his next words.

"In a moment like that - when I need to make a decision, and my thoughts and instincts line up - I have to follow them. That's what I've always done. And that's what I did in Venice."

Jack nodded.

"I understand. That part, if nothing else. You were wrong, and there's going to be hell to pay, for all of us, but... I understand.

"Well. Here's what's going to happen now: first of all, Blackwatch will be disbanded. You and its other members will be under suspension, until there's a full formal hearing. Other projects and assets will be reviewed and either be liquidated, or re-assigned within Overwatch. Expect the first hearing within the next few days. You can return to your quarters and use the common facilities, but you are not to leave the building."

With that, Jack stood up, and pushed back his chair, before starting towards the exit.

"...and us?" Gabe asked, softly.

Jack paused mid-step, and set his foot down slowly. Then, he turned to look over his shoulder, back at Gabe.

"I'd been wondering - for a while - if there really was an 'us.' If there should be one. But after this... I know the answer.

"I'll see you at the hearing, Commander Reyes."

With that, Jack exited the room, and left Gabe alone. He sat by himself in the cool, dim room, hearing only the soft noise of air moving through vents overhead. In his mind, he checked that the knowledge of everything which had happened in the past few hours was still in place. He poked at and verified each fact clearly, summing them up to re-confirm the fact that his life and career as he'd known it was coming to an end. And yet, even with this staggering fact clear in his mind, he failed to find any appropriate feeling rising in his chest. It was as though the knowledge was still propagating down his brain, to connect with the basal portions that would stir tears or provoke anger. He waited, and waited for that knowledge to transform into emotion. But no feeling came.


	31. Repairs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Genji goes to see Angela Ziegler about repairs to his limbs.

The air inside Overwatch HQ was charged with tension, as everyone waited for the hearings on Venice to begin. Previously noisy corridors were hushed, and people moved through them quickly and quietly. Those that Genji did pass regarded him with a different gaze than he had previously received: he had been part of the great fuck-up, and every eye now looked towards him with a critical glint.

All he had done was what he had been asked, what he had been brought here, and rebuilt, to do. And yet, they judged him. He couldn't stand it.

That was why he had been putting off seeing Angela. It seemed to him that she had been giving him that gaze for longer than anyone else, as though she hated him for using the abilities she herself had granted. But ever since getting back from the debacle in Venice, his right hand and left forefoot had been acting up. They twitched and flexed independently of his intentions, and he was getting sick of feeling and hearing their mechanics rebelling from his control.

That left him few options other than going to see Dr. Ziegler. Reaching her office, Genji knocked on its open door.

"Ah, hello Genji - come in, sit down," Angela responded from behind her desk, her fingers tapping across a keyboard as she stared into a display. Her office seemed to be messier than the last time Genji had seen it; there were more askew papers and empty cups on surfaces which he recalled had previously been clean and blank. He entered it, and sat down in a chair in front of her.

She finished typing, blew out a breath, and turned to face Genji.

"Well, I have some good news for you, at least," she opened briskly. "Because of the funding my department put in, we get to keep you despite whatever happens in the hearings. That means we can move forward with the rebuild of your prosthetics and support suit to the next phase."

"Does that mean this sort of thing will cease?" Genji asked, holding up his right hand, showing its thumb clicking back and forth.

"Well - perhaps," Angela wavered. "The next stage is much more advanced - self-repairing, automated neural matching, and a thousand other improvements we've figured out. Thanks to your testing, of course."

"I am glad I could be of use to you," he acknowledged.

"Genji... are you doing alright? Circumstances notwithstanding?"

He balled his fists, and his hand received that signal strongly enough that even it followed suit, and stopped twitching.

"I am alive. I can move. Does that count?"

Angela hesitated, her mouth pursing slightly before she replied.

"Well, it's a bit more complex than that. Are you sleeping well? Eating? Are you worried about the hearings?"

"What does it matter? I sleep sufficiently, I eat enough. The hearings will go the way they will go; I have no say in the matter. All I currently need is repairs."

"Well, how you feel matters quite a lot. As with everyone, your mind and body are closely linked, Genji. Your artificial limbs are controlled directly by a small region of your brain, which is in turn influenced by the signals and activity of other regions. The fabric of your mind and your body, both the artificial and biological sections, are woven together. And the readings from your neural monitor suggest... well, that you have a reason to be twitchy without blaming the machinery."

Genji felt his thumb resume its twitching, and closed his eyes for brief moment. He supposed it was pointless to hide the truth, when Angela could peer into his brain in real-time.

"Well, if it does matter - of course I am not 'all right.' How could I be? I see how others look at me. I see how _you_ look at me, Dr. Ziegler - like I am your own re-creation of Frankenstein's monster, a violent beast with no place in this world, yet one who is bound to you. I remain the key to your success, your fortune, the proof of your genius. But this monster is by far the more pitiable creature, desperate to keep all you've given him despite the itching, the pain, the glitches, the isolation. Because when I think of what I would become without these legs, this arm - it creates in me a fear I cannot describe."

Words spilled out of Genji, as though a dam had broken between his brain and his mouth. He knew that he should stop before he alienated Angela beyond repair, but he couldn't stop.

"At night, I sometimes dream about that day in the hospital, when I first realized what had been taken from me. And when I wake from that nightmare, I sit up - and I look at this arm, these legs, and I hug them to myself - out of joy that they are there, that they work, and out of fear that I'll lose them again, that my nightmare will transform back into reality."

"I would rather die a monster than fade back to what I was. But still, to be one is difficult - difficult, every day."

Genji's words finally ran out, and he realized that he was shaking. Not just in his right arm, but in his core, the center of him that was still biological, original. Maybe the twitching wasn't just the thumb acting up, he admitted internally.

"I - I'm so sorry, Genji," Angela apologized, slowly beginning to respond as she leaned onto her desk. Genji couldn't read the expression on her face, but it seemed one of heavy contemplation.

"This is a lot for me to take in... but every time you speak honestly to me, I'm - taken aback. Thrown for a loop, as I see what a hypocrite I am. As I see how I continually fail to give you what you deserve as a patient."

Angela paused for a moment, staring at the desk in front of her, before sitting up straight and looking at Genji.

"First of all, let me promise you: your prosthetics are yours, irrevocably. I doubt they would fit another human on this planet, and taking them from you would be pointless and cruel. And, no matter what you choose to do, I will never authorize them to be removed, or refuse you assistance. That is my responsibility to you - as your doctor, as the person who helped put you in this position where you feel so unsafe."

Angela had held eye contact with Genji to deliver this statement, but now she turned her gaze away.

"Maybe I shouldn't be this honest, but... I admit that sometimes, it's frightened me to imagine what you're doing out in the world, in Blackwatch. Venice... it confirmed those fears for me. But it also showed me that the problem isn't you, it's higher up: it's Reyes, it's Morrison, it's me. Command allowed this to happen. If I objected to the way my technology was being used, I should have voiced that concern. I should have said a lot of things, despite my own fears. My own ambitions. But Genji, most of all -"

Here, Angela paused, and looked back at him.

"- you're not a monster. You're a young man who has lived through terrible hardships, and was forced into becoming something new. To yourself, and to the world. But in doing so, you've helped others: perhaps as many as a few thousand in the next few years, using the systems we developed. Don't ever forget that."

Angela stopped there, but Genji didn't have anything to say in response; he wasn't sure if he was capable of saying anything. His chest felt like it was going to burst, filled with a sudden influx of conflicting thoughts and emotions, all tied up together. The limbs belonged to him, after all. Angela was indeed afraid of him. And somehow, he had actually managed to help bring about some small good in this world, despite his foolishness.

He tried to say something to break the silence - maybe 'thank you,' or 'I understand,' but it just got stuck in his throat. In response, Angela wordlessly offered her hands to him across the desk, and he took them in his, and knelt his head forward, exhaling. Her hands were warm in his, and he felt some of the tension in him unwind and leave through this small, simple act of human contact. His heart slowed, and the knot in him continued to unwind as he breathed in and out.

After a minute or so, he let go of Angela's hands, and sat back up.

"Thank you," he stated, simply and honestly, inclining his head in a small bow.

"You're welcome, Genji. This was overdue, on my part. I think we have a lot more to discuss, but this was a good start.

"Oh, speaking of which - perhaps this will seem trivial now, but do you have a favorite color? The designers are getting creative with the next phase, and wanted to know if you had a preference."

"Yes," Genji replied quickly. "Green - bright green, like a new leaf in spring. That is my favorite color."

"I think that will work nicely," Angela said, taking a note. "Much nicer than all that black and red."

Genji smiled. "I agree."

Angela moved to her computer to bring up a render of the colors on his next set of limbs, and Genji stared out the window behind her as he waited to see what he might look like in a few weeks' time. It was afternoon, and windy, with fast-moving clouds casting shadows that trailed across the wintry landscape of bare trees and mountains. This wasn't an unusual day by any measure, but it caught his eye in a novel way, as though something in himself had decided to wake up and pay attention. Seeing the rays of sun, he imagined their warmth, and felt them reflected inside himself as an emotion he hadn't experienced in a long time: hope. It wasn't solid, or firm, but it was there. For now, he believed, that was enough.


	32. Exit Strategy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Moira begins to plan her next career step.

Moira felt the slightest jolt through her seat, and confirmed through the window that the train was finally beginning to creep forward. It gathered speed quickly, passing out of the station, through the remainder of the town, and into countryside. Moira breathed a sigh of relief, and then turned to check on her traveling companion seated to her right.

Seventeen was secure in his carrier, though his long, white ears were tucked backwards, showing his displeasure at their journey into unfamiliar territory. This rabbit, the last successful test she'd run before giving Gabe the conversion treatment, was the only physical proof she had of what she'd accomplished. Of course, all her data was securely stored in a drive in her pocket - encrypted using an algorithm even quantum processors couldn't break - but the rabbit was the only tangible thing she'd risked bringing. Anything more, and somebody might have given her a second look as she walked out the door. And, as leaving was something she wasn't currently supposed to be doing, that was a risk she couldn't take.

With the Blackwatch hearings quickly approaching, Moira had decided that the time had come to quietly leave Overwatch of her own accord. The only protection she could rely on in the upcoming hearings was from a man she had purposefully destabilized, which made staying any longer appear inadvisable at best; Reyes had given her a fake name and cover story there for a reason, after all. And, as further motivation, Maximilien had suggested that after Antonio had been removed, Talon might have space for her. Even with all that in mind, the decision to leave behind the laboratory she'd so carefully constructed, where she'd done the best work of her life thus far, didn't come without a twinge of sadness.

Nevertheless, that morning she'd put on a fresh set of clothes, gone to the lab, picked up Seventeen in his carrier, and walked out the front door. All it had taken was a confident stride, and a look that said 'everything is normal.' Then, she had paid in cash at the train station for a ticket all the way down its line into Zürich.

Now, sitting quietly as the small train skirted around snow-capped mountain peaks, it slowly dawned on Moira, as she tapped her fingers on her handrest, that now there was nothing else for her to do but sit, and perhaps to appreciate the scenery as it passed by. She didn't have a single scrap of work-in-progress to pull out and ponder, no notebook of results to contemplate. Not even her phone to read on; it had been Overwatch-issue, and likely an unwise accessory to bring on an escape.

Normally, this would likely have made Moira impatient - to sit idly, when there was work to be done. And yet, somehow, at that moment, the lack of anything to do felt positively liberating; to sit and do nothing but appreciate the world moving by, an ultimate luxury. For this moment, at least, she could enjoy being an anonymous traveler, on her way to an unknown destination.

This spell lasted a few hours, until the train began to enter the outskirts of Zürich. As its larger buildings began to come into view, their shapes somehow summoned the problems Moira was facing back into her mind. Foremost was the choice of where to go next. Her best bet, she figured, was to simply get on another train going somewhere farther away. But first, she wanted to get a new phone; traveling without one could be incredibly difficult, even dangerous, depending on the location.

Stepping onto the platform with Seventeen's carrier, Moira walked down the station's concourse, stopping at an electronics kiosk where she bought a cheap prepaid model. After putting the the carrier down on the ground for a moment, Moira managed to win the battle against the phone's clamshell packaging without any injury. After tossing the devious packaging in the trash, Moira held down a button on the phone's light, flimsy body, and its screen flashed as it began to boot. She put it in her pocket while its tiny processor churned its way to wakefulness, and bent to pick Seventeen's carrier back up off the ground.

It was too light; too light by approximately one rabbit's worth. Moira swore under her breath, and double-checked inside the carrier, confirming that it was, indeed, empty. Looking back up, she began to quickly scan her surroundings for where Seventeen had gone, but she saw only the usual crowd of a large train station in the afternoon. Her heart suddenly began to beat faster.

Then, in the corner of her eye, she saw it: a wisp of dark smoke, moving down the concourse, weaving through a group of Australian tourists, moving towards the other end of the station. Moira began to walk quickly after it, carrier in hand. Apparently, the transition inhibitor she'd made had not worked as she'd hoped, and Seventeen had decided to carry out an escape of his own.

As she followed it, it became apparent that the rabbit's phased form was moving towards a series of stalls near a waiting room. Approaching them, Moira realized that they comprised a miniature market, selling produce and meals and offering a small eating area. One of the stalls, at the far edge, offered greens and salads, and Seventeen was headed directly towards it. Moira quickened her pace to catch up.

A man was ordering a salad at its counter, which a woman was putting the finishing touches on. It looked good: fresh greens, cranberries, walnuts. Seventeen must have agreed with her assessment, as he was headed straight for it. There was going to be a lot of unwanted attention on her sole remaining proof-of-work in just a moment, unless - Moira paused just for a moment, to grit her teeth - that attention was redirected elsewhere.

Striding forward, Moira carefully misstepped, catching her foot on the leg of an unoccupied chair. She let it tip her over, off-balance, and fell dramatically forward to the ground, dropping the carrier to one side as her hands reflexively moved up to catch herself. The chair behind her fell with a clatter as she landed with an 'oomph,' and the carrier went skidding across the floor. She heard a gasp or two.

"Are you alright, madam?" somebody asked. Moira looked up, and saw that it was the man who had been waiting in line for his salad. Behind him, the woman running the stall was also staring at Moira, ignorant of the rabbit who had appeared on her counter, munching on a green leaf. Mission successful.

"I - I think I am, thank you," Moira said shakily, as she picked slowly herself up. While her clumsiness was fake, the resulting pain was, unfortunately, still quite real. "I'm sorry, how careless of me... I've had quite a long journey today."

The worker chose that moment to look back down at the salad she had been putting together, and let out a yelp as she noticed a rabbit was now sitting on top of it. Moira picked the empty carrier back up, and hurried over to the counter, scooping Seventeen and the salad up, and placing them both inside the carrier.

"I apologize, really - I hope this is enough for your trouble," Moira added, putting down a generous amount of Euros on the counter. Then, she turned and headed for the nearest exit, hoping that the curious gazes she felt on her back would lift quickly.

* * *

Moira caught her breath outside, sitting on a bench at the end of the taxi line. Seventeen was happily munching away on the salad he'd appropriated, but Moira felt much less satisfied with her situation. Thankfully nobody had followed her after her little scene, but suddenly she felt like every passing human was a threat, ready to help Overwatch track her down and bring her back to face their questioning.

Perhaps this escape been an ill-conceived plan after all. If she returned now, nobody would realize she had ever been gone. The hearings might not be as bad for her as she'd imagined: Reyes was ultimately responsible for her presence there, after all. This independent streak of hers might just end up throwing another wrench in the works, and put her back where she'd been ten years ago. Moira rested her head in her hand, and exhaled slowly, considering.

The phone in her pocket buzzed. Her stomach flipped, and she sat back up, hoping it was just a spam text. But the phone buzzed again, and kept buzzing. Finally, Moira reached into her pocket, afraid of who might be calling.

A single letter appeared on its screen, emblazoned in white against black: **_M_**. Moira relaxed a fraction, and put the phone up to her ear.

"I was hoping you'd get in touch. I didn't expect you to find this number, though."

A familiar voice chuckled through the tinny earpiece: Maximilien.

"We like to keep an eye on our star talent. As a courtesy, we're erasing what we can of your tracks, but there are quite a lot of cameras around these days, and you did cause a bit of a commotion back there."

Moira grimaced. "My choices were somewhat limited; the only living proof-of-work I brought decided this was an appropriate time and place to reveal his powers to the world."

"A troublesome little fellow, to be sure," Maximilien agreed. "Nonetheless, that little commotion did help us locate you. As a result, one of my associates is currently on his way to offer you some alternative transportation - assuming you'd like some assistance, that is."

"That would be much appreciated," Moira accepted, hoping the relief wasn't too apparent in her voice.

"Wonderful. Stay where you are; we'll talk more once you're on your way."

The call ended. Moira looked back down at the phone in her hand, and it innocently looked back up at her with a standard, generic background, and some icons for free-to-play games, appearing as though it had done nothing strange. Putting it back in her pocket, Moira breathed a sigh of relief, and waited for the next stage of her journey to begin.

After a short wait, a large, dark grey car pulled up in front of Moira, and her phone buzzed twice. The car looked heavy, yet powerful, in the fashion of most high-end German sedans. It was exactly the sort of car Moira had expected Talon to employ. Its back door popped open with a click, and Moira rose and entered the car.

Its interior was just as well-appointed as she'd hoped, with plush reclining seats, which were either real leather or something very close. She settled herself into one, and placed Seventeen's carrier in the long footwell behind the driver's seat. The beast had finished his snack, and was now grooming himself contentedly. Looking up, Moira noted that the driver was an Omnic - not Maximilien, but one of the more common models which had been popular as domestic servants before the Crisis. This one appeared to have returned to its origins, in some small manner at least, though its chassis was covered in definitely non-standard engravings. It nodded at her in acknowledgment, and the door to Moira's right clunked itself. Then the Omnic began to drive, maneuvering the large car away from the busy train station.

A screen on the back of the headrest in front of Moira lit up with the white 'M,' which faded away to show the Omnic himself, seated in a dark, wood-paneled office.

"A little more comfortable now, I hope?" he asked.

"Perhaps a tad," Moira admitted, allowing herself a slight smile.

"Glad to hear it. But now that we have some privacy, congratulations are in order! Quite an impressive job you did with Reyes; Venice couldn't have gone any better for us. Matters on my end have also moved as expected, and I'm pleased to inform you that we would love to support your research further. Naturally, a position with us comes under another guise, but the short of it is - if you accept - you will be working as a senior research fellow, and joining the advisement council of a scientific colony we helped establish: Oasis. Perhaps you've heard of it?"

Moira's heart made a rare, hopeful jump. Oasis had emerged as a powerhouse in research over the past decade; the positions there were among the most coveted in the world. And, more importantly to her, researchers there were respected. Their work made the front pages of journals, their voices were heard, and opinions sought after. After so long on the outskirts of the established society, despite all she'd learned, all she'd done - this could finally change all of that.

Not trusting herself to keep a poker face after the day's events thus far, Moira looked out the car's window, as if in contemplation. Buildings and streets passed silently and smoothly in front of her, their noise and bustle quieted and dimmed by the car's heavy, insulated doors and darkened windows. After a moment, she looked back at Maximilien over the video link.

"I accept," she stated nonchalantly.

"Wonderful. We'll prep a plane for you at the airfield. Safe travels, and I'll be in touch."

Maximilien winked, and his image disappeared off the screen.

Reclining the plush seat with a hand control, Moira began to relax once more. The images she'd seen of Oasis began to flash through her mind's eye, and she began to imagine a life there. There were golden sands, beautiful buildings, and elegant, open courtyards. She saw herself strolling through one, perhaps with someone walking up to her, asking for her opinion on a matter. That had long been a strange, particular sort of dream for her, but she knew could finally make it a reality there. She only had a bit more waiting to do.


End file.
